Page 16 of The Hard Hitter

I grunt in response and take a long pull from my bottle.

“I suggested pie. I know cherry is your favorite.” She takes a pull from her own bottle.

“Best cherry pie I ever had,” I say under my breath.

“She said she might stop by for a game. Lord knows I’ve been trying to get her out of the house. She’s a hermit, like you.”

My head spins so fast, I kink my neck. “She’s coming here?”

Quinn smirks at me. “Yeah, that girl needs to get some action.” She gestures with a nod to Todd, one of the servers. “I thought she might hit it off with Todd.”

A strange possessive wave of anger unfurls inside of me, and I work to tamp it down. Sam can date anyone she wants. I have no claim over her, nor do I want one. “Todd, huh?”

“Yeah, what do you think?” Quinn folds her arms and glances across the room.

I turn to see Todd walking the room with a tray of drinks in his hand. “I’m not sure he’s her type.”

Quinn puckers her lips. “Really? He’s a nice guy, and that’s what Sam needs.”

Oh, that’s not what she needs.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

“Her last guy…total jerk.” She puckers her lips and frowns.

I want to ask more about him, but think better of it. If she tells me he hurt her, I might want to go hunt him down, and that is all kinds of batshit crazy. Yeah, I have a possessive, protector nature about me. I’ve always taken care of Quinn, but I only had sex with Sam once. I have no right to butt into her life—or her past relationships.

“I should go,” I say and hand my cue back to Quinn.

“What the hell?” Jonah shouts from the other side of the table. “You just got here, bro. Shoot some pool with me. Grab another drink and check out the blonde eyeing you.”

I scrub my chin, and glance around at the girls on the prowl. I think about which one I might like to fuck, but can’t seem to bring myself to approach any. Fuck me.

Just then the door opens, and in walks Sam. Dressed in a pair of tight jeans that hug her sweet curves and a blouse with tiny buttons my fingers itch to rip open, she catalogues the room. Her gaze meets mine, goes wide—and instead of coming our way, she darts down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Was that Sam?” Quinn asks, trying to look around me.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“Where is she going?”

“I don’t know,” I practically yell at her.

I don’t take my eyes off Sam as she disappears down the hall, her sweet ass cradled so nicely in her jeans. I’m not the only guy watching, either. I catch the lewd way some douche bag is staring at her, like a lion about to slaughter the lamb. He sets his beer down and follows behind her.

Oh, fuck no.

“I should go check on her,” Quinn says.

I put my hand on her shoulder to still her. “I’ll go.” With long, determined strides, I cut through the crowd and go down the hall. The douche bag is lingering outside the little girls’ room when I arrive, and I lean against the wall and fold my arms over my chest.

H

is glossy eyes meet mine, and he wobbles a bit. “Wait, aren’t you—”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, and gesture toward the door. “And she’s mine.”

“Oh, shit. I wasn’t… I was just going to talk to her, offer to buy her a drink.” He holds his hands up, palms out, and stumbles backward a bit. “I didn’t know.”

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