Page 7 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
He reaches for me, a big paw wrapping around my waist and yanking me toward him. “You heard me. I’ll pay you double whatever he’s paying. Been a few days since I’ve gotten my dick wet, and your mouth looks awful pretty.”
I shove him backward as hard as I can. “Get off me!”
A thick hand covered in reddish hair and freckles shoots out, latches onto my assailant’s wrist and clamps down until his knuckles go white. My assailant grunts, and I watch as Ryder steps forward, twisting his hand until my assailant hisses. Ryder’s unruly thatch of bright red hair is tangled in front of one hazel eye, and a small mischievous smile curves his lips.
“Don’t apologize to the lady,” Ryder says in a voice as hard as nails and crackling with threat. “Seriously, I’m begging you, don’t do it.”
The other guy is as puzzled as I am; his voice, when he finds it, is tight with pain. “Wh-what?”
Ryder’s other hand is empty, hanging loosely at his side—he’s giving off the impression that he’s barely exerting any effort. “I really, really don’t want you to apologize to my friend.” His grin turns positively scary. “Because if you don’t apologize right the fuck now, I get to pummel you into a bloody pile of dog meat.”
“I’m—I’m sorry, lady. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Beg her to forgive you.”
“For—forgive me—please forgive me.”
Ryder’s knuckles are pale, his hand trembling with the power of his grip, which has the man’s arm and wrist and elbow all twisted in the wrong direction until it’s obvious that with one quick jerk, Ryder could snap multiple joints at once. “Tell her what a piece of shit you are.”
“I’m—I’m a piece of shit.”
“A puny, pathetic, filthy piece of shit who couldn’t get pussy he didn’t pay for if his life depended on it.”
“A puny—”
I touch Ryder’s arm. “Enough,” I interrupt.
Ryder’s eyes flick to me, to the man writhing in pain, and then back to me. “I heard what he said.”
I hate that a part of me finds this thrilling. “So did I. You’ve made your point—you’ve avenged my honor.”
His grin is quick but amused, and then he turns to the man, releasing him with a shove. “Take a swing—I fucking dare you.”
The man just stumbles away, shaking out his arm, looking pissed but unwilling to push it. With an ugly glare back at me and Ryder, he lurches out the door.
Ryder just smirks at me. “Fancy seeing you here.” He indicates the booth he was sitting in. “I’m over there.”
I follow him over and slide in opposite him—Ryder must be some kind of preferred patron or something, because a waitress appears almost immediately—she’s young and pretty, with brown hair and blue eyes and a cute smile for Ryder that I’m surprised to find isn’t at all flirtatious.
“Another beer for you, Ryder?” Her tone is familiar, personal.
Ryder nods. “Yeah, I’ll have another.”
Her eyes go to me, friendly and welcoming. “And for your friend?”
He glances at me. “Laurel?”
“I’ll have a gin and soda with a slice of lime.”
When she’s gone, Ryder turns his hazel eyes on me, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes with a thumb. “So. What brings a classy broad like you to a dump like this?”
I snort. “Classy broad? Not sure if that’s an insult, a compliment, or both.” I look around. “And I wouldn’t call this a dump. It’s nicer in here than I expected.”
Ryder laughs. “I think most people expect it to be either a strip bar or a dirty hole in the wall.”
I snicker. “Well, that is pretty much what I would have expected, just looking at it from the outside.”
The waitress returns with our drinks; Ryder thanks her and then turns to me. “So. What are you doing here?”
I just grin and shrug. “This can’t simply be my favorite bar to come to alone on a Friday night?”
Ryder snorts. “Not likely.” He gestures around. “I helped Billy with the renovations of this place—all four of us did, actually—and I’ve been coming here every weekend since then.”
“Oh. So you’re saying you’d know if I’d ever been here before.”
“I’m saying the clientele of this place is almost exclusively contractors—the only women that ever come here are with a date or looking for…well, not a date, and let’s just leave it at that.” He scratches at his beard. “So…why are you here?”
I sigh. “I had it on good authority that you’d be here.”
He nods, sips his beer. “I see.” His smirk is cocky and annoying and knowing. “Stalking me, huh?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Stalking would be crazy, and I’m fairly certain I’m not crazy.” I fix him with a stare. “Maybe that’s why you stopped answering my texts.”
His eyes narrow. “Who have you been talking to?”
I counter his question with one of my own. “Why did you stop responding?”
