Page 30 of The Flight Risk

“Then, yes,” I nearly hiss, hoping that will steer him away.

“Well, where is this mystery boyfriend? I don’t see him buying you a drink. What a fucking loser.” He aggressively places his hand on my lower back again and attempts to pull me closer. “I always take care of my woman.”

“Good for you.” He brushes my hair off my shoulder. I flinch from his disgusting and unwanted gesture. “Don’t fucking touch me. You don’t even know me. I suggest you walk away before you reveal how small your dick really is by continuing to act like a douchebag.” I escape his hold and square off with him. He has a good four inches on me but that doesn’t scare me. I’ve had worse face-offs with other pretentious jerks.

“And I suggest that you stop being a little bitch.” His eyes turn angry and cold. I don’t budge and I can tell that pisses him off more.

“What the hell did you just say to her?” Oakley’s voice booms over my shoulder and I immediately let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Without hesitation, he steps in front of me and he towers over the other guy by eight inches easily.

He sizes up Oakley and stupidly opens his mouth. “Who the fuck are you? The boyfriend?”

Oakley steps forward and closes any gap between him and the douchebag and nearly growls, “Damn straight. And I’m about to be your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t walk away right now.” The guy cowers and finally steps back. Luckily the music is so loud that no one around us really registers what’s happening.

“Whatever, man. Maybe you should tell your woman not to dress like a slut.”

Before Oakley can properly pummel him in the face–something that one, I would love to see and two, would be astronomically hot–I grab one of the espresso martinis and toss it in Mr. Douchebag’s face, effectively ruining his expensive suit. Too bad to waste something so delicious on such a jerk, but it’s worth it. I smile gleefully and Oakley smirks proudly, except the rest of his body is tense and his hand is clenched in a fist, jaw tighter than I’ve ever seen it before.

“What the fuck?!” the douchebag says. “This is Armani, you bitc–” but before he can finish calling me a bitch for a second time tonight, Oakley steps forward. The guy finally surrenders and scurries off.

Oakley turns to me and is back to original Bruce Banner Oakley. Not The Incredible Hulk Oakley. His demeanor has completely shifted. “Good idea with the drink.”

“I thought I’d save him from a well-deserved punch in the face. I don’t want people to think anything bad about you.” That’s the last thing that I want–anyone to talk negatively about the kindest man I’ve ever known. “Plus, I’ve always wanted to do that. So thank you for helping me scratch that off my bucket list.”

“I’m here to protect you, Tess.” Oakley leans those gorgeous forearms of his against the bar. His back is curved in the most delicious way and I’m having very vivid flashbacks of his sculpted back in the shower. Water dripping down every ridge and valley of his body. I’m hyperaware of what’s underneath his shirt; it’s kind of hard to forget.

I prop one elbow on the bartop. “It’s a shame to waste one of the yummiest espresso martinis I’ve ever had.” As soon as I finish saying those words, another martini appears next to the one I was about to take to Brooke. She is probably too busy obsessing over Tristan to notice how long it’s taking me to return with her drink. I know the feeling. Luckily, the man I need hopelessly is standing right here next to me, defending my honor no less.

“It’s on the house. I’m glad someone put that asshole in his place. I cut him off a while ago. Karma’s the real bitch.” The bartender smiles and winks. “Enjoy the night, you two. And here’s some water for you, Oakley.” Apparently, the bartender follows hockey or at least pays attention to the signs around town.

“Thanks!” I raise my glass before drinking more.

Oakley nudges me. “When was the last time you had a drink of water?”

“Who are you, my mom?”

“No, just a concerned roommate and friend.” He takes a sip of water, eyes intense on me.

My jaw drops and I pretend to be shocked. “I thought you were my boyfriend?” I take another gulp of my drink, nearly finishing it, mortified those words just came out of my mouth. Too late. It’s already out there.

Before he can respond–or not respond–to my boyfriend comment, “Opalite” starts to play. Immediately all of my worry and regret dissipates. I tap his hard chest. “I love this song!” I finish my drink, finally snatch Brooke’s drink, and run it over to her. She meets me halfway with the same excited energy. There’s not even a dance floor, but we create our own because why the hell not?

Tristan gladly joins his bride-to-be and sways with her. I turn to Oakley, hopeful he has miraculously changed his stance on dancing in public. His gaze is directed at me and can only be described as a mixture of amusement and a glimmer of–adoration?

It’s my move and I’m taking it.

I point to him and crook my finger, gesturing for him to join me on the makeshift dance floor. All amusement on his face disappears and is replaced by pure horror. I nod while lip-syncing to Queen Taylor’s lyrics. He smirks and mouths, “No way.”

I step forward to claim the man who makes me do silly things and feel all the feelings I usually run away from. Without waiting for him to say no again, I drag him behind me to where our friends are still standing. I continue dancing as if we aren’t in a crowded rooftop bar.

“C’mon, boyfriend. Will you dance with me?” I tease and although I know we aren’t really together, a small piece of my soul that has been abandoned since I was a little girl, the part of me that desperately wanted someone to choose me and stay for once, fills with hope.

Oakley is basically just standing there, amusement and partial embarrassment sweeping his face as I move around him. He begins to step side to side, arms at a ninety-degree angle. He looks like a giant tree with a whimsical fairy twirling around him.

“Did Hitch teach you how to dance?” I twirl around him and bump my hip on his thigh because I can’t reach his actual hip.

“Who?” he yells, confused.

“You’ve never seen Hitch? Have you lived under a Star Wars-sized rock your whole life?”