Page 49 of Mr. Edwards
I place the bottle back on the shelf when I’m done and lift the drinks onto a tray. I’m not confident he’ll be able to get them back to the table without spilling them.
“You want me to carry this over for you?”
“What I want,” he says, leaning a little closer and fingering one of my curls, “is your phone number.”
“You’re persistent, but unfortunately it’s going to be the same answer I’ve given you the last hundred times you’ve asked.”
“Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m gonna wear you down sooner or later, beautiful.”
I crack a smile because there’s no chance of that ever happening. Brad’s a nice-looking guy, but he’s in here more nights than he’s not. He also leaves shit-faced. He’s not a mean drunk like my mom was, but I’d still never consider getting into any type of relationship with a man like that.
“The answer will still be no.”
“Ah come on, Carlee, give a man—” He doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying because Grayson grabs a hold of his collar, dragging him away from the bar.
“I believe the lady said no.”
Brad is so drunk when Grayson lets him go, he stumbles forward, falling to his knees.
“What the hell?” I screech. All eyes in the bar swing in our direction.
“Oh shit,” I hear Mandy say as she dashes past me toward the kitchen. Dave, our cook, is the only male working tonight, and I know she’s going to alert him that there’s trouble brewing. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me on the ass.
Grayson’s shoulders rise and fall with fury as he stares down at Brad. The last thing I want is for this to turn into a fight. He should’ve butted out, I had it under control.
He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. One of Brad’s friends comes over, helping him to his feet. I swiftly move around to the other side of the bar, ready to intervene if things escalate.
“You want to tell me what the fuck that was, Grayson?” I question the moment I’m standing in front of him.
His angry eyes move from Brad to me, but they soften the moment they skim over my face. He runs his fingers through his hair, blowing out an exasperated breath.
“He had no right to put his hands on what’s mine,” he answers in a relatively calm voice, but I know he’s anything but.
“Yours?” I seethe.
“Yes, mine.” He takes a step closer, getting up in my face. The hurt I see in his eyes is almost my undoing. “You’re my girl, Carlee and nobody has the right to touch you.”
The nerve of this guy. I’m not some type of property he can lay claim to. I’ve known him what? Six days. We spent two nights together, granted we bumped uglies multiple times, and it was insanely hot, but I’d hardly call that a serious relationship.
The next words out of my mouth are automatic, but a part of me wants to take them back the moment they’re spoken.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say poking his chest. “I’m not your girl, Grayson Edwards.”
He’s not the first man to pull a stunt like this, and he probably won’t be the last. But I’m my own person, and nobody has the right to force their insecure bullshit onto me. I spent my entire childhood being submissive, but I’m not that naive little girl anymore.
Throwing his head back in frustration, he tugs at the longer strands of his hair. “You’re my fucking girl,” he states matter-of-factly. “You are!” Before I get to say anything else, he’s turning and stalking toward the exit.
Everything in me wants to call him back… to tell him I want to be his girl, more than anything I want that, but we were doomed from the very start. I’m just saving us both a shitload of hurt by keeping things casual.
We’re too different.
I’m damaged goods.
I’m like a shiny new toy to him right now, but the fun will eventually wear off, it always does. He’ll soon see the ugly, fucked-up part of me, and it’s not pretty. I wish that wasn’t the case, but sadly it is.
I’m not the kind of girl you take home to meet your family.
I’m a good time, nothing more.
