Page 60 of Text Appeal

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

“So, who’s messing with your major organs?” I ask.

“That one.” She nods in the general direction of the prom king and queen.

Shit.“Connor?” I ask.

“No,” she says with a hint of a smile. “The other one. Love sucks.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Let’s dance,” says Brian, who is basically the last person I want to see.

I don’t spare the sneer. “No thanks.”

My new German friend just raises an eyebrow at the sweaty man. Disdain done well is an art form. It sort of makes sense that she’s here. With her work as a photographer, Ava must meet all types of people. Including tall, stunning, and intimidating supermodels who have maybe followed her halfway around the world. What a romantic gesture that would be. Most of the people I’ve dated wouldn’t even follow me down a dark hallway.

But Brian isn’t finished. Hell no. He puffs himself up and says, “In case you haven’t noticed, your date’s ditched you. Not a surprise given what you’re up against. You’re lucky I’m giving you the time of day.”

“Do you feel lucky?” enquires my new supermodel friend. And for the record, German accents are hot.

“Not so much. You have some white powder around your nosethere, Brian.”

He sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. What a gross goddamn creep. But it’s when he grabs my wrist with the same hand that I really want to get violent.

“Let me go,” I say while attempting to remain calm.

“Just listen.”

“Brian, get your fucking hand off me.”

“Nice language,” he snarls. “There’s no need to be a bitch. I am doing you a favor.”

“And I said no. Now let me go.”

Things are happening around us. The crowd on the dance floor parts to let someone through. However, I am too busy to notice who. It would be great to see the security the idiot mentioned in his speech. There’s a good chance I’m going to attack this asshole with my glass of cider.

“This guy bothering you, Blue?” asks Connor in a deceptively calm tone.

I could not be happier to see him. I tug my hand free of Brian’s while he’s distracted, and take a step back out of easy-grabbing range.

“She’s fine. Jesus. Calm down, Connor,” says Brian. “You got a temper like your father.”

My date says nothing. He just stands there seething. The muscles in his neck seem to have thickened and his hands are curled into fists.

“We were just gonna dance.” Brian leers at my breasts with a smug smile. “You should be thanking me for taking care of your leftovers.”

“Don’t talk to her. Don’t touch her. Don’t even look at her,” says Connor. “Keep your eyes on me.”

There’s no warning when Brian attacks. It all happens soquickly. He swings wild, which makes sense given his condition. But Connor is ready and steps into it, taking the hit straight to his cheek. It must hurt and he does flinch. Though why he would volunteer to take the hit is a mystery.

“C’mon,” says Connor. “You can do better than that. If I stand still do you think you can hit me without any help this time?”

With a growl of rage, Brian surges forward and swings again. His aim has indeed improved. Connor doesn’t have to move to catch this punch. It smacks him straight in the mouth, making his head rock back. A thin line of blood oozes down his chin. The sight makes my stomach tumble.

Several gasps and a startled shout are heard from our audience. Then, with no hesitation, Connor smashes his fist into the other man’s face, knocking him off his feet. Brian hits the floor and it’s over. This part of the night, at least.

“Don’t worry,” says Ava. “I’ve called Denise.”

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