Page 14 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

She’s bent to refill their beers with a pitcher, her cut-off shorts hugging her ass, the curves of her cheeks peeking out, and the boys’ eyes follow her every move with an appreciation that sends a jolt of rage through my veins. I want to leap across the table, and grab each of them by their throats for daring to bask in what I consider my own private sun that’s Rose Flowers.

"Here you go, Mr. Barrows," Rose's bright voice breaks through my jealous thoughts as she sets a plate in front of me. Her smile, however, doesn’t reach her eyes, and her use of my last name is a painful reminder of our age difference, which was intentional on her part.

"Rose," my voice is low and tense, "you think I don't see the way you're flirting with every Tom, Dick, and Harry in this place? What are you trying to prove?"

She cocks her head to the side, a strand of pale hair falling across her forehead.

Damn me if she’s not the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

“And what if I am? It's not like I’m not youngand single."

Her sass hit me harder than a slap in the face.Why is that so fucking hot?I have this insane urge to throw her over my lap and spank the brat out of her. Audience be damned.

Without another word, she slaps the check down next to my untouched plate and saunters over to the table of horny boys again. They perk up like a pack of dogs at the sight of a bone as she approaches, her laughter floating back to me, both mocking and challenging.

My jaw is clenched so hard, I think I feel my teeth crack. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to spring. But I remain seated, eyes tracking her every interaction as though willing her to feel the weight of my stare.

Eventually, pissed for putting myself through this torture, I reach in my pocket for a wad of cash, the crisp bills crumpling as I fling the money down, leaving a generous tip.

Pushing back from the table, the legs of the chair screech in protest. Then, standing up, I feel resolved. No more hesitation. No more doubts. Age be damned. Rose Flowers will be mine, and no juvenile pack of frat boys are going to touch what’s mine..

With a predatory stride, I make my way to the group of horny idiots. They’re oblivious, lost in their beer, bullshit, and lewd talk about the waitress who just graced them with her presence.

"Shit! Did you see her tits,man?" One boy snickers, elbowing his friend. "Bet she..."

"Finish that sentence, and you'll be eating through a fucking straw," I growl menacingly. My shadow looming over the table.

The laughter dies abruptly, and wide-eyed stares look up from their beers. The bullshit bravado drains from their faces. One swallows loudly, another’s leg starts nervously bouncing under the table, but not one can muster the courage to meet my challenge.

"Understood?" I say softly, not a question, so much as an order..

They mumble in agreement, each barely audible. Satisfied with the fear I’d instilled, I know now I’ll do whatever it takes, cross any line, break fucking bones if necessary, but Rose will be mine. Nothing will stand in my way. Not age, not these boys, not even Rose's own sass and independence.

Chapter Eleven

Rose

I sashay between the tables at Salty's. My eyes dance across the room, landing on Braxton, who's in his usual spot in the corner booth, giving him the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on me.

"Can I get you another whiskey, sugar?" I ask, leaning over just enough to make sure Braxton gets a good view from across the room.

"Make it a double," the customer says, not taking his gaze off my chest.

"Comin' right up!" I chime, spinning on my heel. Each night for the past two weeks, I've played this little game. Flirting with the regulars, laughing a little too loud, touching a forearm here, flashing a smile there, all the while sneaking peeks at Braxton. And bless his heart, every time his jaw clenches just so, and I know it's working.

He's jealous alright. Honeybun would be proud of the trouble I'm stirring up.

I hustle back to the bar, my ponytail swaying behind me, and pour the customer his drink. I know my grouch watches every move, each step I take as I head back to deliver the double,

"Here ya go, darlin'," I say, delivering the order and sneaking a peek at the glowering man in the corner.

"Primrose, you’re stirrin' the pot, aren't ya?" Lila says when I go to turn in another order, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you're playing a dangerous game with that one."

"Who? Braxton?" I feign innocence, batting my eyes at her. But we both know better.

"Uh-huh. He has it bad for you," she says, nodding toward him. "He's so uptight, it's only a matter of time before he blows." Her words are laced with a mix of concern and amusement. She knows all about the tension brewing between us.

"Maybe that's what he needs," I muse, shrugging nonchalantly. "To let go a little."

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