Page 113 of Lace 'em Up

Her bottom lip comes out, and I know she’s going for a cute pout.

The trouble is…it isn’t cute.

It’s annoying as shit.

I’d seen it pulled no less than a dozen times in the couple of hours we spent over a meal together—the final time being when I’d put her in a Lyft and sent her on her way.

Alone.

Hoping to never see her again.

And…yet here we are.

“I’m terrible”—pout—“especially since I haven’t seen you”—another pout—“since our dinner together.”

Where she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, took all of two bites of it, was rude to the waiter, and spent more time taking a selfie than talking to me.

Yeah, I’m not a fan.

Nor that my mom is friends with Stacy’s mom, Cathy.

“Life got busy,” I say, snagging the top of my chair, putting a little distance between us. I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “Well, it was good to see you, but I should?—”

For the first time, those predatory eyes move from me, seeming to notice that I’m not alone at the table.

I almost laugh at the excitement blooming on her face when her eyes hit on the men—puck bunny extraordinaire, this one—and the almost immediate subsequent sneer that takes its place when she sees Chrissy.

But it’s the fury replacing that when her gaze drifts to Rory that has me taking a step to the right, putting myself between my princess and the woman who looks ready to gouge her eyes out with those long, red talons.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Stacy says in frosty, clipped-out words.

Not to me.

To…Rory.

“Hi, Stacy,” she replies quietly. “You’re looking well.”

And I fucking hate that I’ve heard that tone before.

That it was the same one she’d used with that asshole of hers.

Stacy doesn’t respond—or not verbally anyway. Instead, her gaze drifts down Rory from head to toe in a long, slow drag, her mouth curving into a derisive sneer that has me clenching my back teeth together.

Then she sniffs, clearly dismissing Rory as she turns back to me.

And yeah, no, that doesn’t work for me.

Neither does the way her hands are contracted into claws, like she’ll cut a bitch if Rory dares so much as move.

“As you can see,” I begin quietly, and although the words aren’t loud, I make sure to inject plenty of ice into my tone.

You fuck with Rory—who seems to know your skinny ass for some reason—and you fuck with me.

And I’m a hell of a lot meaner.

Something I make evident in my eyes when Stacy glances back in my direction.

The veneer between fake sweet and bitch is being scrubbed away.

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