Page 37 of Jersey

I'm on him before either of them realize I'm in their presence. Pulling my arm back, I let it fly, hitting the piece of shit right in the fucking nose.

He releases her, his hands coming up to his face. The craziest part of all is that he looks at me, confusion in his eyes, as if he can't understand why he was hit in the first fucking place. I swear men as a whole these days are so fucking entitled they don't even consider what they're doing is wrong.

Chapter 15

Caitlyn

"You want a second one?" Jersey growls as he takes a step closer to the other man.

I look around, my entire body trembling. There have to be consequences for just walking up and hitting someone, and I have no doubt that, somehow, I'll get into just as much trouble as he will.

A litany of thoughts swirl through my head. If I get arrested, will I lose my license? Will this man seek retribution on me for getting hit? Am I in danger? Why is Jersey so angry?

"If you don't—"

The man scurries away when Jersey lifts his fist a second time, keeping his full attention on the man until he climbs into a car and drives away. His tires kick up gravel as he leaves the parking lot.

"I hope he eats a fucking guardrail," Jersey growls, his voice full of fury.

Instead of sticking around for whatever comes next, I turn and open my car door, flinching and pulling away when I feel the brush of his hand on my shoulder.

When I spin to face him, to challenge him about the intrusion, I find him standing there with his hands near his ears.

"Sorry," he whispers, his eyes darting between mine as if he's trying to figure me out and I'm somehow the most complicated thing he has ever laid his eyes on.

"I don't like to be touched," I snap before I can evaluate what that confession entails.

He swallows, dipping his head as if he understands.

"Sorry," he repeats.

My lips form a flat line. It would be customary to tell him it's all right, but I'm far enough in my therapy that I no longer make excuses to make others feel comfortable, especially after they've violated my space in any way. To most, it may make me look like a complete bitch, but my boundaries aren't up for discussion today or any other day, for that matter.

I attempt to stand a little taller, but honestly, I'm glad he's here. I don't know what I could've done to ward off that man if he hadn't shown up. I resist the urge to touch my upper arm, sure that I'll have a bruise from his grip.

"You can't just go around hitting people," I chide, trying to take the attention off me.

"He deserved it."

"Do you really think you're in any position to determine what people deserve?" I snap, my voice trembling more than I'd like it to.

The man rattled me, but I don't want to look weak in this situation.

I'm not afraid of Jersey like I am of that other man. I don't think Jersey would hurt me the same way, but I know there's still a level of pain attached to him, and I've never been a masochist.

I turn to get back into my car, and he must've learned his lesson because he doesn't reach out for me a second time.

"Let me follow you home."

His voice is low, almost pleading, and when I sit in the driver's seat and look up at him, I can see he's dealing with his own struggles. He's here to help me, but it also seems like it's the very last thing he wants to do.

"I'm no one's obligation," I tell him, trying to ignore the thrill of anticipation when I think about the last time he followed me home.

"I don't even know if you're safe to drive yourself," he says, stepping in between me and the open car door, effectively preventing me from closing it.

"I'm fine," I insist.

"Your hands are shaking," he says, pointing to the rattling keys in my right hand. "You've tried three times to get the key in the ignition and failed."

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