Page 11 of Hot For Her Bully

"Uh, no, why would I mind?"

He laughs nervously. "Right, yeah, you don't care if another student gets some special attention from the old coot."

"Old coot?"

Richard laughs again. "Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Your choice in guys. I mean, you know what, let's start over. Do you like Italian?"

I don't get to say much as Richard does all the talking for the both of us. Questions and one-word replies are all I can offer in this one-sided conversation all the way to some fancy restaurant on the outskirts of our little college town.

The valet takes the car, and Richard ushers me inside, with his hand resting on the small of my back. I don't like him touching me. It's subtle when I take a step away from his touch. It's even more subtle when I take the seat at our table without letting him pull out my chair.

The ambiance of the restaurant is dim, with soft music playing as the aromas of garlic, olive oil, and herbs waft around the space. The beige tile walls look rough to the touch. The bronze lighting fixtures add to the experience that this restaurant can be a slice of heaven in Naples rather than some quiet town near Princeton, New Jersey.

The server approaches us with a warm smile as she offers the specials. Richard speaks up for both of us. "I'll have the rib-eye, medium, and she'll have the house salad, grilled chicken. No pasta, and the sauteed spinach for me. I'd also like a bottle of your Cabernet. Thank you, sweetheart."

"Um, actually, I'll have the New York strip, medium rare please," I tell the server. "And I'd prefer a glass of Zinfandel with roasted potatoes as my side. No salad."

Richard shakes his head and waves the server off after nodding to keep my changed order. "Whitney, Whitney, Whitney. This isn't going to work if you don't let me lead this thing between us."

"There is nothing between us, Richard. I'm here as a favor to Mr. Adams. Let's just get through this dinner."

"You need to be nicer to me," Richard says with his hand reaching under the table to rub my knee. The gesture startles me to the point I jerk away, knocking the table and attracting the glares of the other diners.

It's only then that I recognize a familiar face and dread washes over me. My nerves are on edge as I stand up from the table. "Excuse me. Let me just, uh, freshen up."

I dart away from the table, take a left down a long hallway, and stop in front of the two doors leading to the restrooms. As soon as one opens, I see it's a single bathroom, thankfully no stalls. But what I don't see is the person coming up behind me.

Weston pushes me inside and locks the door behind him.

CHAPTER 7

Weston

Rage, jealousy, and the intensity of my sexual appetite all converge when I show up at Le Bistro Romana. It's the only restaurant within driving distance of the campus where people who have money like to spend it. Predictable.

Dicky Balls has his name for more reasons than Whitney will ever know, but I don't want her finding that out tonight. The shock in her eyes, panic radiating from every pore, as she scans our surroundings for an exit.

"The only way out is through me, Whit."

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Saving you," I tell her with a smile. "Again."

"This is not saving me. This is delaying the inevitable shit show this date is devolving into."

I can't stop myself from getting close to her. The dress looks even better on her body than it did laying on her bed. The shoes, her hair, and her natural face without any makeup. She's fucking beautiful. I can't let her go back out there to that dick.

Whitney tries to side-step me. I stop her with a firm hand. "You can't. We're not done yet."

"We are very done. I can't just abandon Richard. It's going to make me and Harland look bad. This isn't what boyfriends do?—"

"Girlfriends don't date other guys either. You're lucky I let you show up to this date in the first place."

"Lucky? Lucky you let me? Who the fuck do you think you are to let me do anything?"

She's angry. It's enthralling. When Whitney shoves me back, I react quicker than she anticipates, grabbing her hands. It's a strong reminder of last night. My eyes scan her face. Eyes, lips, mouth, the way she bites her lower lip.

"Let me go, Weston," she growls.

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