That idiot hadn’t recognized me even after Posey used my name—thank God.
Hadn’t even looked at my face.
Hadn’t had the balls, I don’t think.
Well. The good news is he won’t ever bother her again. I guarantee that.
I lean against the counter, scratching at the stubble on my chin, thinking about everything I’ve seen tonight. I watched as she fussed over her hair and listened to her tell me how nervous she was because she hasn’t had a date in months.
Fucker had to go and ruin the whole dang thing for her by being a horny piece of shit.
My instincts didn’t take me to Wylee’s for broasted chicken and wings—my instincts had me borrowing that old lady’s car because something felt wrong. And I hate meddling in other people’s lives, but I had to make sure; plus, I’d get dinner out of it despite having a fridge full of food.
My instincts should win a goddamn award for being freaking lit.
I pat myself on the back.
I’d sat in that parking lot for what felt like hours, at one point going inside for my dinner. It came in a bag, obviously, and the To-Go counter was within spying distance of Posey and the Sleaze, but I couldn’t linger long; people were gawking at me as if I were an unwelcome stranger they didn’t want hanging around.
Then again, it could have just been the mullet and the sunglasses.
I’d gone back to my car with the bag, hungry as hell and needing something to occupy my time while I spied, justifying the creep factor as one part genuine concern—the other part genuine boredom.
I’d make a terrible private investigator, grease from the meal all over the steering wheel and my mouth, barely paying attention to the action in front of me until my target had walked off the back porch, scumbag trailing along after her.
I watched.
Like a hawk.
Considered it an innocent goodbye until I’d seen the bastard put a hand on her, throwing open the car door before I’d thought twice about it. I might be a big dude, but I was light on my feet and fast.
Too fast for him to know what was hitting him…
“Put me down, you motherfucker,”he cursed at me, kicking his feet out and hitting me in the kneecap like a spoiled child.
A terrified big child.
“Ah, ah, ah—be nice. I watched you mishandlin’ Ms. Kettner from my car and thought you might like a taste of your own medicine.”I paused.“Were you plannin’ on walkin’ off with her?”
“No! I was saying goodbye,”the little fucker lied. He damn well was going to try to get him to her car. Truck. Whatever.“Who the fuck is this, Posey—tell him to put me down.”
Too weak to see who was holding the miserable son of a bitch half in the air.
“Shut the fuck up,”I hissed in his ear.“Now. I watched you half the time you were sittin’ with her and from what I can tell, you’re a bag of shit—the kind of asshole who pits a pill in a lady’s drink the second she gets up to use the toilet.”
I wasn’t wrong about that; I’ve seen men like him take advantage of women in clubs, bars, regular restaurants, too.
“Who the fuck are you?”He wanted to know.
“Don’t fucking worry about it, you dirty motherfucker. I could snap your neck right now if I wanted to.”
And I wanted to.
I just didn’t need to end up in prison before the football season officially started and before the Texas Steer announced I was joining their team.
Pops would roll over in his grave.
Still.