Page 38 of Knotted

Is she warm? Maybe. Nothing serious, but enough for a ball of lead to settle deep in my gut.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say, concern lacing my voice as I gently lift her chin to meet her eyes. They’re a little glassy, and that’s all it takes for me to act.

I look up and call for the waitress, maybe a little louder than I intended. “Can we get some water here, please?” Because there are still only two glasses at the table. One is empty, and Roxie’s had Oliver’s finger in it.

“Your water, sir.”

The waitress’s voice barely registers, a soft note on a breeze compared to the thud in my ears. She rushes through pouring several glasses, though I only need one. I look up, and—fuck.

Jules.

Her hair falls in soft black waves, framing a face that’s always stopped me dead in my tracks. And that mouth...God, that mouth. But there’s a fire in her eyes now, a blaze I know well.

She’s pissed.

By the black apron, I’m guessing she works here. And from her expression, she’s not especially impressed that I used my best Training Instructor voice to get her attention.

But for one brief, glorious second, our eyes lock. And everywhere I look, she’s stunning. I notice the light freckles on her nose, the full lower lip she just licked, and the subtle shift in her expression—irritation melting into something else.

What is it? Disbelief? Recognition? It’s like she’s seeing a ghost.

She blinks, her lips parting slightly as she breathes out, “Brian?”

I can’t help it—a goofy grin spreads wide across my face. “Peach Pop.”

She gasps.

Uh-oh.

My little term of endearment lands like a turd in a punchbowl. Instantly, her expression shifts from curious surprise to a full-on death glare.

Before I can say another word, or get kicked square in the balls, it happens.

Little Snook hurls.

Right into Roxana Voss’s fancy-ass purse.

CHAPTER 15

Jules

Peach Pop?

He actually said it.

The words slip out of his mouth, and before I can even think about telling him off or flicking him in the forehead, the little girl’s face crumples as tears well up in her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Without hesitation, Brian scoops her up in his arms, holding her close like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

I catch her eye and offer a reassuring smile. “Hey, it’s all right. We’ve all been there. We just need to make sure you’re okay.”

She leans against Brian’s broad shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, all I see is my high school crush—gorgeous, grown-up, and smiling so tenderly at me that it melts my heart.

I’m about to offer her a little soda and bread when Roxana’s shrill voice slices through the air, sharp enough to shatter glass. “Goddamnit! What are you, a moron? Of course, I’m not okay. My purse is full of vomit!”

The room freezes, the shockwave of her words rippling through the air. Everyone’s attention suddenly snaps to me.

It’s the point where Brian ‘The Butthead’ Bishop returns, full force, because, of course, he says nothing. No apologies, no explanations, just him bolting for the door, his little girl in his arms, with two boys at his heels.

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