Page 23 of The Lair

Right. I mean, yes, that’s who I am to Travis. It makes sense that he would come to the rescue so fast. He probably fears I would sue the bar or something for not feeling safe at the workplace. I shouldn’t overthink this.

Those long fingers curl a little tighter around my elbow as Mike leaves his chair and takes a step closer. Travis positions himself in front of me.

“Sorry, man,” Mike says, a hint of remorse in his voice. “I apologize,” he tells me while I’m still partially hidden behind Travis’s tense back. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m not having the best day, and it’s just… never mind. It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry. I’m leaving now.”

I say nothing. Travis doesn’t move until Mike exits the bar, his huge military-style boots planted like tree roots. His jaw does that ticking thing again before he drops my elbow.

But before I can say anything, he surprises me by turning around and asking first, “Are you okay?”

Dragging my eyes up his waist to his shoulders and then his face, I nod. “Yeah.” I swallow, giving him a smile. “I would’ve punched him in the balls if he had crossed any more lines, but thanks for coming to the rescue.”

A strange sound escapes the back of his throat, and it takes me a second to realize what it is.

A chuckle.

Travis ischuckling. At something I said.

Is he sick?

“My break’s over.” He tilts his head toward the bar. But his voice sounds… lighter. He points to the bar with his bearded chin. “I’ll be there.”

I’ll be there in case you need meis how my brain has decided to finish his perfectly complete sentence.

I’m so delusional.

Travis said it himself—I’m part of his staff, which is the only reason he worries about me. I shouldn’t entertain any other crazy ideas or focus too much on how the warmth of his hand seems to have settled within my skin, leaving a tingly sensation behind.

I’m too young for him, and he’d never be interested. He doesn’tknowme either. Not really.

And despite all the reasons why crushing on my boss is a disaster waiting to happen, my heart refuses to get the memo.

Chapter Eight

As my tiredfeet drag me inside the grocery store on my morning off, I keep wondering if what happened last night was only a fever dream. A butterfly-inducing one, but febrile nonetheless.

I’ve never been an overly cuddly person, but there is a difference between being clingy and not having been hugged in months—the last hug I got was from Jada, nearly a year ago. If my body reacted that way to Travis’s hand on my elbow, it must be because I’m touch starved.

I grab some orange juice on my way to the hair products aisle and decide the world won’t end if I allow some honesty into my system just for one second.

Okay, maybe five.

Five seconds, and I’ll stop thinking about my crush on Travis forever.

The feel of his big, warm body so close to mine.

The hard muscles on his arms that I may or may not have daydreamed about touching a couple of times since I’ve known him. (I only want to poke them a little to see if they’re real because there’s simply no way they can be so huge.)

Five seconds are up.

The grip of that massive but surprisingly gentle hand on my elbow.

How he positioned himself in front of me in a protective gesture, his body a shield.

Stop it.

The woodsy smell of his cologne.

How invincible it made me feel to have him by my side.

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