Page 5 of Can't Stop Watching
Dane chuckles, that low sound that does funny to women's insides. "I've always enjoyed a challenge."
Oh boy. This is so not good. I need to shut this down before it goes any further. In other words, I need to run. And that's exactly what I do. In under three second, I'm behind the counter again, my gaze schooled, my curiosity under wraps.
For ten whole minutes, I'm the queen of self-control. I mix drinks, wipe down the bar, and even manage to laugh at a fewlame jokes without once glancing in Dane's direction. Go me. I should get a freakin' medal for this level of willpower.
But just as I'm mentally patting myself on the back, one of the frat boys from earlier stumbles up to the bar, a lascivious look in his eyes. Great. This should be fun.
"Hey, beautiful," he slurs, leaning way too far into my personal space. "How 'bout another round? And maybe your number while you're at it?"
I plaster on my best 'customer service' smile. "Coming right up on that drink. As for the number, sorry, company policy."
Good job, Lila. That's how you handle these situations. Polite, but firm.
But this guy clearly didn't get the memo on basic human decency. As I turn to grab a bottle, his hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist like a vise.
"Aw, come on," he whines, his grip tightening. "Don't be like that. I'm a nice guy."
Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England.
My heart starts racing, old memories threatening to surface. No. Not here. Not now. I force them down, focusing on the present.
"Let go," I say, my voice low and steady. Inside, I'm screaming. Outside, I'm the picture of calm. "Now."
He doesn't budge. If anything, his grip tightens. The guy's built like a linebacker, all muscle and entitled attitude. For a split second, I'm not in a bar in New York. I'm back in that classroom in New Orleans, feeling small and powerless.
But I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not.
I open my mouth, ready to unleash holy hell on this asshole, when suddenly he's not there anymore. One second he's looming over me, the next he's stumbling backward, looking dazed.
And there's Dane, standing between us like some kind of avenging angel in a leather jacket.
"The lady said let go," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "I suggest you listen."
Frat Boy looks like he's about to argue, but one glance at Dane's face changes his mind. Smart move, buddy.
"Whatever, man," he mutters, backing away. "Bitch probably gives it up for free anyway."
I feel Dane tense, ready to go after him, but I put a hand on his arm. "Don't," I say quietly. "He's not worth it."
Dane turns to me, searching my face. "You okay?"
I nod. "Yeah. Thanks for the assist, but I had it under control."
He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Sure you did."
I'm about to fire back with some snarky comment about not needing a knight in shining leather when the frat boy's back, and he's brought reinforcements. Two equally large, though less drunk-looking buddies flank him like the world's douchiest bodyguards.
"That's him!" Frat Boy points at Dane, his face red with booze and bruised ego. "We're gonna teach you a lesson, asshole!"
Oh, for fuck's sake. This isn't a bar, it's a kindergarten with alcohol.
I open my mouth to tell them to take their testosterone-fueled pissing contest outside, but before I can get a word out, all hell breaks loose.
The three of them lunge at Dane, and I brace myself for the sound of breaking furniture and shattering glass. But what happens next makes my jaw hit the floor.
Dane moves like a freaking action movie hero. One second he's standing there, looking mildly annoyed, and the next he's a blur of controlled violence.
He sidesteps the first guy's wild swing, grabbing his arm and using the momentum to slam him face-first into the bar. Ouch. That's gonna leave a mark.
