Page 40 of The Last Good Man

The dark-haired man is unperturbed, not flinching.

The boy carrying my food exits the diner and heads to me, not botheredin the slightest. What is it with these people?

I straighten in my seat, a sense of urgency in my move. I just wish my tormentor finished his business and returned to the caras well.

The teen knows what he’s doing, rounding the car, opening thedriver sidedoor, greeting me without making eye contact, and setting the food in the back.

I thank him.

“Hey,” I say as he’s about to zip away.

He flicks his gaze in my direction.

“Do you know what’s going on over there?” I ask as the music blasts over the speakers in one of the cars.

He shrugs.

“Have no idea,” he says cryptically, which makes me think he’s been taught to mind his business and keep his mouth shut.

“Nothing unusual in your opinion?” I probe.

Halfheartedly attempting to appease me, he looks away and stares blankly at those people.

“Nothing from what I can tell.”

Moving away, he cuts our conversation short and barely reaches the sidewalk when one of the troublemakers lunges at my protector.

The jab comes from the side without warning, and I sweat a little, envisioning myself talking to the police while he’s taken into custody and then driving his car home.

None of those scenarios appeal to me. Little old selfish me… I’m not even thinking about what could happen tohimorevenme if I didn’t maneuver my way out of this sticky situation fast enough.

Is this the moment when I should check the glove compartment? How do these things work?

My eyes are glued to the attacker, and the next thing I know, the tattooed man takes a step back, swings his arm, and punches his attacker in the face.

The aggressor hits the ground with a thud and no longer moves while the other people resume their conversation.

I can’t see my companion’s face as his back is turned to me, but nothing in his stance suggests he is anything but relaxed.

If I were him, I’d be concerned the aggressor’s buddies might try to do something similar.

That’s not the case with him.

He slides his hands into his pockets and speaks to the people in front of him while two men collect the attacker from the sidewalk.

I release a long-held breath.

Cool.

What have I gotten myself into?

MELODY

He spends a few more moments in front of that diner before shaking hands with those men and heading my way.

The road has cleared now, and we’re the only car in front of the establishment.

He slides into the driver’s seat and glances at me.

---