Page 3 of Knocked Up

“Bullshit. I saw you eating them with that woman in the booth.”

“You saw that?” I grin and lean against the back wall, attempting to focus on the band, though it’s not working.

“Yeah. What’s up with that?” Brooks and I have known each other for the better part of ten years. He’s a nice guy when you get to know him, but to most, he’s a known asshole. Also, he’s the official town planner. The guy who approves or denies projects and businesses that come to this mountain with a dream. I think the asshole thing makes it easier to say no to people.

“I don’t know. She was pretty, and I sat down.” It really was that simple. Her face was one that I couldn’t walk by and ignore.

“So, why aren’t you taking her home?” Brooks has the biggest mouth.

“Jesus, dude.”

“What?” he scoffs and takes another sip of beer.

“When was the last time you took a woman home?”

He shrugs. “This ain’t about me. You like her, so go back over there.”

“And say what? Her friend just got here. They’re doing a girls’ night. She needs that more than she needs me fucking things up. Just drop it.”

Brooks grins and shakes his head back and forth before readjusting his cap. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go get myself some wings. Thankfully,Ican manage a trip to the bar and back without gettin’ distracted by a pretty face.”

I tip back my beer and ignore him as I try to focus on the band, but my gaze keeps searching through the crowd to catch a glimpse of Grace. She’s young, and if I’m being honest, I shouldn’t be thinking about her sexually. Hell, she was probably only humoring me because she’s kind, not because she was interested. Why would she ever be interested in a man who’s nearly twenty years older than her?

It’s weird. Really fucking weird, and I never should’ve sat down to begin with… let alone hold her.

Jesus.The internal cringe is oppressive. It’s so rough, I’m thinking about calling it a night.

Swallowing hard, I tear my gaze away from the booth where she sits twisting her silky hair in circles. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never fantasized about a random person. I’ve never seen a woman and instantly decided I need her before. I’ve never found it hard to walk away from a relative stranger. And yet, here I am, on the fucking struggle bus, itching to go back over there and carry her back to my place.

My cock presses at my zipper and I turn back toward the band, attempting to think of anything other than the floral scent on her skin, or the way she felt against my chest.

Fuck. I’m sick.Really fucking sick.Clearly, I need to get laid… and fast. Or at the very least, I need to spend the nightjerking off. I can’t be this weirdo. This is a small town. People talk, and she has a baby to think about.

I try to focus on the music. The guitars, the drums, the violin, the… smashing of glass in the background. The swearing and yelling coming from the corner booth. A chair getting knocked down. A crowd forming around Grace’s table.

What the fuck?

Heart rate speeding, I push through the crowd toward Grace. I’m not sure why I’m so desperate to protect her, but the feeling is intense. She’s sitting in the booth, staring up at a man in his late twenties. He wears a video game T-shirt with a stain on the front, and his hair is dark and messy. Her friend Zoe is standing, hollering at the dude in question, but he doesn't seem affected.

My blood is hot, my skin is crackling, and I don’t have a thought left in my head other than hurting this dude for messing with the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.

When I’m finally through the crowd, I grip the guy’s arm and drag him out of the bar without pause. It’s not a hard task. He’s a smaller guy. The worst part is shoving through the people that are both drunk and confused.

“The fuck, dude?” The kid thrashes away from me the second we’re in the fresh air. He could’ve been thrashing the whole time, but I’m not sure I’d have noticed. The bar was loud, but I was also in a zone.

The bar door swings open again. This time, with Grace and her friend behind it. “It’s okay, Cyrus.” Grace’s voice is soft and sweet. “I’ve got it. He’s… probably drunk.”

“No, I’m not drunk, Grace,” the piece of shit slurs. “Who is this old fuck? Are you fucking him?”

Okay… this kid wants to get his ass beat. I stare at him and say, “You gotta chance to run, man. I’d take it.”

The kid scoffs and pushes his hand back through his black hair. “Don’t you have to get to bed so you don’t miss the early bird at Cracker Barrel?”

“Jason,” Grace steps toward him, her hand on her stomach, “shut up!”

I don’t want her defending me, not ever, but especially not like this. She’s got enough on her plate already.

“He’s leaving.” I step between them, using my size to force the kid off the sidewalk and away from the bar. I’m being nice, which he should appreciate.

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