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Baron raised an eyebrow. “The idea has merit…”
“I’m always a dick,” I said.
“This is true,” Ezra said. “You carry on as usual.”
My gaze drifted back to the pink-haired pixie. She leaned over a nearby table, collecting empties and replacing them with new bottles of brew. One of the guys sitting at the table leaned back in his chair to blatantly check her ass out, stretching his hand out to slide it as close to her skin in its tiny plaid skirt as he could get without actually touching her.
Asshole.
Something about his smug, entitled leer and his greedy hand hovering near the girl’s pretty stretch of barely visible cheek and thigh made me want to smash his face in. In my lap, my fist clenched on air.
“You cool?”
I looked over at Ezra’s question, relaxing my hand. His eyes were too knowing.
Get it together, Gale.
“I’m fine.” I was done with fighting with my fists. I used my words now. Raised in the foster care system, I’d been a scrapper until I met Baron, and his family took me in. It had taken a while until I’d relaxed enough to trust I could be done with that and settled into pursuing academics and sports.
I shook my head and stood, tossing a few bills onto the table. I wasn’t going to blow it now with a fight over some chick I didn’t even know.
“I’m gonna head back, guys.” They protested, and I raised a hand, stopping them. “Nah, I have a paper to write. Stay, enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you later.”
With a wave, I headed out.
The last thing I needed was some pink-haired pixie making me feel shit I didn’t want to feel.
