Page 8 of Rio's Release

“Back off, old man.”

His words are said in a calm, low voice, but they’re deadly just the same—maybe even more so than if he’d yelled. The hairs on my arms rise. No one’s ever stepped up for me before. I’m terrified of what’s about to happen.

My father looks him up and down, but I see the shock on his face. As he takes in this stranger’s no-nonsense look—the one that says,“try me, asshole”—my father suddenly licks his lips and takes a step back. To my disbelief, he looks at me and backs down for the first time in his life. “You be home before ten, young lady.”

With that, he returns to his vehicle.

My mouth drops open.

“Holy cow,” Jenny whispers. “Thanks, mister.”

“That your father?” the hot guy asks, ignoring Jenny. His pretty gray-green eyes look into mine like he can see straight into my soul.

I nod.

“He treat you like that often?”

Jenny perks up. “All the time. He’s a real dick.”

“He do that?” The stranger’s chin lifts to my face, and I slam my hand over my cheek, mortified all over again.

My father climbs his fat body behind the wheel, and the next thing I know, the hot guy is stalking toward his truck. He puts a hand on the roof and gestures with a circular motion of his hand for my father to roll his window down. It glides open, andthe hot guy dips his head and says something, then he pauses. A second later, he pops his fist on the roof and everyone hears the bang. My father nods, and the hot guy jerks his chin up like he’s signaling him to pull out.

My father backs his truck out and peels off the lot.

“Holy shit,” Jenny hisses. “Did you see that? What do you think he said to him?”

“I don’t know.”

The waitress sets a tray on the counter, and Jenny turns to get it, but I can only stare at the man who’s walking back toward us. His eyes lock with mine, and I can’t look away.

I’m speechless. I can’t even find my voice to thank him.

When he gets to us, he reaches beyond me and grabs a pen off the counter. Then, stunning me further, he takes my hand gently in his, turns it palm up, and writes a phone number on it in blue ink.

“He ever touches you again, call me.”

I stare at my palm, my heart beating a mile a minute.

With the edge of his finger, he tips my chin up. “What’s your name?”

“Shelby,” I whisper.

“You don’t deserve that, Shelby. Understand?”

I nod, my eyes stinging.

“What’ll you have, sir?” the waitress asks, and Jenny and I move away.

The guy watches us, then turns and orders.

I sit at a table but keep my eyes on the stranger. I don’t even know his name. But he knows mine. I glance at the number on my hand, and a tingle shoots through my body.

He gets a bag of food and returns to a vehicle. It’s then I notice the guy in the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette and watching us. They back out and drive away, and I feel a tug of sadness, wondering if I’ll never see him again.

Jenny draws my attention. “That guy was so hot. I can’t believe he told off your old man like that.”

Me, neither. Maybe there are some good guys in this world.

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