Page 123 of His To Erase
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll help you find something safer. Something in your budget. I know a guy.”
“Frank—”
“It’s not up for debate.”
The way he says it makes something deep in my gut twist hard.Umm…
“I’m not a problem you need to fix.”
“You’re not a problem,” he says as we pull up to the curb. “I take very good care of what’s mine.”
He leans over and kisses my cheek like he’s claiming the win. “I’ll text you when I land.”
Ani
Some nights, it hits the second I walk in. That itch under my skin feels like if one more thing goes wrong, I’m flipping a table and setting the bar on fire.
Tonight’s one of those nights.
The second I step through the back door and into the low thrum of beer-slick floors and neon haze, I know I should’ve called in sick. But I didn’t, because I’m a responsible adult with rage issues and poor coping skills.And bills.
Sarah’s already mid-shout, barking orders at a guy who looks like he’s two seconds from quitting. “Don’t just stand there, mop it up before someone dies.”
Another tray crashes near the pool tables and I flinch like it was aimed at me. My shift hasn’t even started and I’m two minutes from an assault.
I shove past two regulars glued to the bar like barnacles, snatch a semi-clean towel, and start scrubbing the counter withenough force to take the finish off. If it had feelings, it’d file a restraining order
Sarah glances over from the taps with one brow raised. “You good, or are we about to have another bar fight?”
I don’t look up. “I’m not not about to stab someone.”
She smirks like she’s proud of me. “There’s my girl.”
I keep wiping, trying not to spiral, but the walls feel too close, and my skin feels too tight. And I swear the ceiling’s breathing down my neck. On the bright side, my tip jar’s filling up, probably because I look like I’d bite someone if they touched me. Men are disgusting like that—mistaking venom for foreplay.
And then I see him. Sitting there in a black shirt, and built like sin, with that same unreadable face that makes you want to scream or sob, depending on the hour. He’s just sitting there smirking at his phone.
I want to punch him. Maybe that’s the feeling in my chest that lights the hell up the second I see him.
It has to be him. He has to be the one fucking with me. If it’s not him, then I’ve officially lost my mind. And honestly, maybe that would be easier. Before I can think better of it, I’m across the bar.
“What the hell is your problem?” I hiss, slamming my palms flat on the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me from launching across it.
“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”
Dear?
The way he says it is laced with condescension and it hits like a hot iron to the spine. I want to slap the smirk right off his face, then claw it off with my teeth.
My pulse is screaming, and my brain’s glitching. All I can do is stare at him like I’m the only one who forgot we’re not friends.
He looks like every bad decision I’ve ever fantasized about, poured into one perfect, infuriating man. God. Even his veinslook like they could wreck me. My mind goes right to images of his big hands, and all the places I’d like them…
I snap. “You seriously have nothing better to do than play stalker on your off days?”
“If I wanted to watch you,” he says, keeping voice low, “you wouldn’t be standing here to ask me about it.”
