Page 19 of Stone Rules

I’m not a big fan of girls’ night but I agreed under Skylar’s threat of working me every Saturday night for a month. I’ve never been one to get along with other women. Women tend to pretty much hate me. I get that the hair and the face intimidate them because of who my mother was. I get that I never really gave them a second thought other than what I could get out of their boyfriends or husbands. I get that I’m pretty much the opposite of what any girl wants to call a friend.

The Mitchells—they never gave a rat’s ass what I looked like or who my mother was. But I think they were the only ones who didn’t.

Maybe I could get along with Mindy and Jenna. Mindy doesn’t seem to mind me that much and, while I’ve not met Jenna yet, I’ve heard great things about her.

As my shift is coming to an end, I stop by one of my tables where two guys are finishing their lunch. I’m surprised they haven’t hit the bathroom yet; they’ve asked me to refill their drinks at least five times, flirting with me more and more each time I visit their table. I flirt back. Of course I do. Flirting equals great tips. They are both good looking. Not in a rugged-yet-clean-cut Ethan Stone kind of way, but head-turners none the less. And maybe a few weeks ago, I’d have taken it further. But now . . . everything has changed. I no longer have to wonder where my next meal is coming from. I no longer need someone else to provide a roof over my head.

That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the reason I’m not carving notches on the bedpost that came from Baylor’s guest room.

I shake off the thought and ask the decently-hot guys, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The one with dark hair and bedroom eyes says, “How about your phone number?”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously? You New York guys have got to work on your pick-up lines.”

“Who says we’re from New York?” he quips. “And if I come up with something better, do you think I’ll have a shot?”

“I don’t know. It’ll take me about sixty seconds to bring your check, so that’s all the time you have.” I walk away feeling slightly guilty that I gave the poor guy any sliver of hope.

I cash out another table along the way and when I return, Bedroom Eyes nods to something on the table in front of him. “Fifth row,” he says. “We will probably be able to feel the sweat dripping off them as they play.”

I look closely to see tickets for White Poison, a wildly famous band. Tickets that I know must’ve sold out within minutes. I’m not that into the concert scene, but even I have to admit, part of me would love to see them live.

His friend kicks him under the table. “Dude, Drew will kill you if you give his ticket away.”

Bedroom Eyes flinches and rubs his shin “Shut up, Chris. Besides, I’m sure he’ll forgive me when he sees why. I mean any man would be crazy not to do everything in his power for a date with” —he looks at my nametag— “Charlie.”

I put their check on the table, next to the concert tickets, eyeing the face value on them. “You’d be willing to spend two hundred and fifty dollars on a woman you don’t even know?”

I think back over the past five years. I’ve taken much more from strangers without a single thought. But then again, something was always expected in return. Suddenly, a sick feeling washes over me as I recall some of the journal entries I’ve read that were penned by my mother. And as if a freight train had hit me, I finally get it. I have pretty much become the daughter my mother raised me to be. Instead of her selling me for whatever she needed, I was selling myself for whatever I needed. I wasn’t technically a whore, but I might as well have been. Just as my mom wasn’t technically a pimp, but what she did to me certainly fell under the broad definition.

A familiar head of dirty-blonde hair scoots out of the booth behind this one. With a scowl on his face, Ethan leans over the table, pushing the tickets back to the man whose name I still haven’t learned. “Sorry. She’s already going, and with tickets far better than these.”

He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me tightly against him, like he’s claiming me as his. Like he’s marking his territory against these would-be predators. Like he’s the hot alpha male who fucked me quick and hard on his office desk.

I want to be mad at him, but I can’t. When I turn to look up at him, he’s brooding. And it’s damn adorable.

He knows I’m new to the city. Is he just trying to keep me safe? Or is he jealous? Nobody has ever been jealous over me—isthiswhat it looks like? This strong man, puffing out his chest to appear even larger than he is, staring down the schoolyard bullies that tried to take his lunch money.

I think back to last night, him warning me to stay away from Devon and then the way he ignored me after. Jealousy or protection? The signals he’s sending are clear as fucking mud. One minute, he’s shooing guys away, the next he’s telling me he can’t date me. Maybe it comes from being a private investigator. I’ll bet he digs up some pretty twisted shit about people. People who seem normal on the outside but have major skeletons in their closet.

Fuck!What if he digs up shit about me? I mean, I just gave him carte blanche at the guys who all know the worst things about me. What if Ethan finds out?

I realize three pairs of eyes are staring at me, waiting on me to say something. I look back at Ethan, sweeping my gaze quickly up and down his body. It may be Saturday, but he’s still wearing his usual linen slacks and crisp, clean dress shirt, although today he’s minus the tie. Kind of a shame. He looks killer in a tie. I tighten my thighs just thinking about what he could do to me with one of his ties.

I look up into dark eyes that silently beg me to play along.

“Sorry.” I shrug at the guys in the booth. “I guess I’m busy that night.”

My would-be suitor’s hand falls onto the tickets, sliding them across the table towards his wallet before he begrudgingly puts them in it. “Some other time maybe,” he says, ignoring Ethan’s punishing stare.

“Charlie’s pretty busy these days,” Ethan says, pulling me even tighter against him. He gives the guy a look. That guy look that says ‘hands off.’

Bedroom Eyes holds up his hands in surrender and whips a couple of twenties out of his wallet. “No harm, no foul, man. We’ll just be on our way then.”

We move aside so the two men can slip out of the booth. When they walk out the front entrance, I realize Ethan still has a grip on me. And his thumb is rubbing circles on the side of my ribs, burning a hole through the thin material of my shirt. I try to ignore the intensity of feeling shooting through me from that little, seemingly insignificant touch.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, prying my body away from his.

---