Page 91 of Best Served Cold

15

NOAH

The flashing lights and steady beat of music did nothing to calm the mess of thoughts racing through my head. Neither did the crush of people around me, all laughing and dancing and having the time of their lives.

After Zane and I finished our random conversation in the woods, Gray drove me and my truck home while River and Zane followed. Then they left to get ready for work.

Becca had the night off from the restaurant, which was the only reason I’d sparked up in the first place. No way in hell was I getting high and taking care of the kids, not even if enough time had passed that I felt sober.

I hid in my room for a few hours, trying to muster up some sort of happy energy so she wouldn’t clock me the second she saw my face, but then the restlessness set in.

The need to move. To do something. To be out and among people, even if being out only reminded me of how alone I was.

So, like the dumbass I was, I ordered an Uber and went to the closest club to drown my sorrows in vodka cranberries the moment Becca had started the kids’ bedtime routine and the coast was clear to sneak out.

Four drinks in and I was finally feeling it.

But it wasn’t helping.

It never helped.

But that didn’t stop me from doing it.

Because I was a dumbass.

“Oof.”

A hard hit to my shoulder rocked me on my feet, even as I leaned most of my weight against the bar top.

“Watch it,” someone snarled at my side.

I glanced over at the guy glaring daggers at me, his face twisted up in a sneer. I did a quick assessment of how much of a threat he posed. He was big and built, but I had a few inches and a fuck-ton of pounds on him.

“Fuck off.” I kicked back the last of my drink and returned my gaze to where I’d been staring at the various labels of the bottles neatly lined up on shelves behind the bar.

A shove to my shoulder, just hard enough to be annoying, drew my attention back to the D-bag still next to me.

“Say that again,” he taunted, his words slurring slightly.

Fucking awesome. Now I had to deal with a wasted dude-bro.

Putting down my cup, I stood up and squared my shoulders, showing my true height and build. “Fuck. Off,” I repeated.

His eyes narrowed and his arms shook from how hard he was clenching his fists. It didn’t escape me that he had to look up to glare at me.

One of the only saving graces I’d had as a kid was that I was big. I’d hit five feet by age ten and had started high school at nearly six feet. I’d also always been a bit on the chunky side, so I had bulk behind my height.

It was amazing how bullies magically left you alone once you got bigger than them. At least they stopped beating you up then. I’d still had to deal with other forms of bullying on the daily.

Because of this, I never learned how to fight. Not really. The flailing panic I’d done on instinct as a kid hadn’t been all that effective against the groups of asshats who’d targeted me, and I’d never had to fight someone as an adult.

But I wasn’t worried about this guy, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood to deal with his posturing.

“You wanna go outside?” he goaded, bouncing on his feet like a toddler who’d just downed an energy drink.

Seriously? Did people still challenge randoms to go outside and fight?

“You bumped me.” I folded my arms over my chest, letting him get a look at how massive they were compared to his. I might not be a gym-bro, but I’d spent the last eight years working in construction and had the strength and size to show for it. “You really want to do this?”

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