Page 26 of Resurrection
I raise an eyebrow. "Don't try that with me, Lachlan."
He ignores the warning in my voice. "Oh, come on. It's the least I can do for an old friend."
Somehow, he manages to make "friend" sound dirty. I take a breath and keep my tone as dry as a sand dune. "No offense, but I don't think you know what to do with a serving tray."
Lachlan leans against the table like he owns it. "I know what to do with you, though. When are you going to let me take you out?"
I almost choke on my own breath. Does this guy have a one-track mind or what? "I don’t date," I say coldly, trying to keep my voice down. "I think I told you that before."
He gives me a pitying look, all mock concern. "Still holding out for your guitar boy, huh?"
His words are like nails on a chalkboard, but I don't let it show. "I’m working."
Lachlan gives a slow, smug smile. "A waste of a woman, if you ask me."
I hold up my hand. "Good thing I didn’t ask." On the inside, I’m boiling, but I know better than to reveal my temper. A high-pressure environment is nothing new to me.
Lachlan winks. "Come on. I bet I can show you a good time."
"This is a children's event, Lachlan," I grit out. "Not the time or the place."
He takes a step forward, and I tighten my grip on the serving tray I’m currently holding, because it’s the only thing separating us.
"You don’t know what you’re missing out on," he whispers in my ear.
"The smallest dick in town?" I whisper back. "No, thank you."
I probably shouldn’t have said that. There’s an obvious crack in his mask of confidence.
I turn, ready to put this encounter behind me, but apparently, all these years later, Lachlan Pratt is still a bully. He's right there, too close and too pushy, reaching out. Next thing I know, my wrist is in his grip. I barely manage to set the tray on the table before it slips to the floor.
"You’re an uptight bitch who needs a good fucking," he mouths at me. It’s almost inaudible and I’m grateful for it. I don’t need any of the kids and parents to hear this. My reputation is important to me. You can't do much for the community when people think of you as someone they don't want around their children.
"Let go," I say quietly.
"I bet you won’t talk like that after I’m finished with you."
"Your son is watching."
That’s when I see a shadow out of the corner of my eye. It’s Tyler—what the hell is he even doing here?—moving fast, like a man on a mission.
The room fades as my pulse kicks up a notch. Lachlan holds on to my wrist with a roughness that leaves no doubt. He thinks he can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He hasn’t changed a bit. My heart’s pounding with shock and anger and the urge to kick him in the shin. But I can’t afford to lose face.
People are starting to notice now, watching us with curiosity. I can feel their eyes like spotlights, and it makes my skin crawl.
"Let go," I repeat, low and furious. I pull, my arm feeling like it’s about to snap.
That's when Tyler appears next to Lachlan, his hand resting on his shoulder.
"Did you hear what she said?"
Lachlan releases my wrist and turns.
My mind goes blank. Tyler’s fist connects with Lachlan's jaw, and everything goes into slow motion.
Lachlan drops like a sack of rocks.
The room erupts. Parents pull their kids closer. Some laugh nervously; others look as if they’ve seen a ghost. Maybe they have. Tyler stands over Lachlan, unfazed, like he’s been here all along. Like he belongs here. Like he belongs to this little desert town.
