“All right. I’ll leave it alone then, but call me if you need rescuing. Being the white knight is pretty much my job description.”
She rolls her eyes. “All right, Prince Jack.”
“Hey, I didn’t elevate myself to royalty. I said knight.” We spend a few moments of comfortable silence digging into our meals, but the peace doesn’t last long.
“So, this is why things didn’t work out,” a caustic voice interrupts our dinner.
I look up from my plate to see Brad Wilson, aka douchebag from county, standing by our table with a thunderous expression on his face. I toss my napkin beside my plate, unhook the badge off my belt, and swing back my fist.
Chapter 2
I watch, out of the corner of my eye, as Brad drops to his knees to avoid being hit. From the smile that briefly flashes across Jack’s face, I’m guessing that Jack knew Brad would collapse on his own and that Jack never intended to make contact with Brad’s face.
Jack reaches down and with his affable, buddy-cop voice says, “Looks like you lost your balance, bud. Need some help?”
Brad looks at Jack’s offer of help with some skepticism, but slowly reaches toward the outstretched hand.
“I wouldn’t,” I say without looking up from my plate.
Brad scuttles backward on his ass and nearly runs into a waitress delivering food. She squawks in annoyance, attracting the attention of other patrons. Even with my partially obstructed view, I can see the tips of Brad’s ears turning red. He hates being embarrassed.
Jack makes a satisfied sound and retakes his seat.
“Was that necessary?” I ask.
“Yes. He’s a shit. As a bonus, it made me feel good.” Jack’s entirely unrepentant. Cheerfully, he downs a huge swallow of my beer and attacks his steak without an ounce of remorse.
Brad scuttles to his feet, makes a big show of brushing off his suit pants and marches over to our table once more. What Brad lacks in brain cells, he makes up for in dogged determination. I guess that’s why I went out with him in the first place. I gave in to his constant pressure, but his inability to take “no” for an answer was also why we broke up.
“I could report you,” Brad threatens.
Jack keeps stuffing the food into his mouth.
“I could report you and have your badge taken away.” When Jack still doesn’t respond, Brad stupidly turns on me. “And you. I knew you were cheating on me with this Neanderthal. I don’t know why you even bothered dating me when all you wanted to do was sleep with this asshole.”
Jack throws down his fork. It clatters loudly against the metal hotplate the steak was served on. A number of heads pop up from their own meals—as if we hadn’t already attracted enough attention.
“Jack,” I say in warning. “Let me handle this.”
He frowns like a child. “Why? I’m the one with the badge and the gun.”
I nudge the badge in his direction. “That’s exactly why. I’m not going to get my friend in trouble.”
Jack’s frown deepens when I use the word “friend,” but I say those words for my own benefit, not his. Lately, I’ve found it necessary to remind myself that Jack and I are not now, nor ever will be, a romantic couple. Even if we were, not that we will be, I would want to fight this particular battle on my own.
I twist in my chair to face an angry Brad. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out between us, but it has nothing to do with Jack. And for all of our sakes and reputations, if you want to talk about it more, then we should do it in private instead of in front of half the town.”
“There are only forty people here and Bingham is a city of over twenty thousand,” he says. Brad’s pedantic ways and tendency to always correct me was another reason we didn’t last more than a few months. What a waste of my precious time.
“I don’t know how you could have withstood one date, let alone five, with this guy,” Jack wonders while Brad sucks in an indignant breath.
“Thanks for the oil on the fire, Jack,” I mutter before addressing my ex. “Fine. I still think it’s forty people that don’t need to know.”
“Then let’s go outside.” Brad snaps and points toward the exit.
“Let her eat her damn fish in peace, dude,” Jack replies before I can.
Brad’s chin juts forward. “Why don’t you let her talk?”
“Why don’t you two stop talking about me like I’m not here?” I angrily interject.
Jack mouths a “sorry,” but Brad snarls, “I’m trying to talk to you, but you’re not listening. That’s always your problem. You don’t listen enough.”
“I’m going to kill him in about five seconds,” Jack informs me.
I can’t have that. With a frustrated exhale, I toss my chopsticks onto the table and get up. Brad stands like a stone statue as I pass him on the way to the door.