Page 4 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

“What can I get you from the bar?” she repeated her earlier question, blinking rapidly and drawing my gaze to hers.

“A couple of pitchers of whatever beer you have on tap,” I answered, my enamor getting stronger by the second. “Do you serve food here?”

She gestured toward the peanuts.

I looked at them and curled my nose with disgust.

I didn’t eat peanuts that’d been sitting out all day with all kinds of people reaching their gross hands into the bucket holding them.

I hung out with men all day, every day.

I knew how freakin’ gross they were.

“Dixie, what’s the holdup on the damn beer?” one of the other brothers called.

I turned and settled my glare on him.

I loved Sage like a brother, but if he ruined this for me, I’d shove his face up his ass and make him lick his colon.

He held up a placating hand, knowing damn well and good what would happen if my ire got raised.

I turned back to the woman.

She had a rag in one hand, and a wet glass in the other.

She also looked angry, like she didn’t like that I was talking to her.

Now that I was standing closer to her, I could see all the features that I’d missed earlier due to the darkness of the room around us.

She had the blonde hair of hers styled in ringlets that were a bit wild around her beautiful face.

Then there were her eyes. A honey brown that looked warm and inviting despite the scowl on her face.

Her skin was lightly tanned, or that might’ve been due to the white top she was wearing, making her appear tanner than she actually was.

The door behind the bar burst open and a haggard looking old man walked in, caught her arm, and yanked her toward him.

My heart skipped a beat, and the anger that took me over, so swift and sudden, couldn’t be healthy.

“What the fuck have I told you about being out here when there are customers?” the man snarled in her face.

I wasn’t aware of my own actions as I vaulted over the bar top.

Just that one second, I was standing on the customer side, and the next I was standing on the employee side.

“Daddy,” the woman cried out in pain. “I didn’t have a choice! Roger left!”

“Get your hands off my woman,” I growled, my voice deep and menacing.

I didn’t reach for her, though, because I didn’t want to put her into a tug o’ war with me and the man she called ‘daddy.’

“And who the fuck are you?” he snarled, thankfully letting go of the woman.

“Daddy, this is my, erm, fiancé. Remember how I was telling you about him? He travels a lot for work,” she lied.

She walked cautiously around the man and stood at my side before saying, “Um, Daddy, this is…”

“Dixie,” I offered, finishing for her, not bothering to offer my hand.

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