Page 104 of Roped in Rawhide
He points at Ridge slinging drinks a few paces away. His fellow owner turns on cue to scowl at Brent. Menace oozes from his features. The former hockey player is terrifying on a good day. This scare tactic is something else entirely. It’s enough to make my spine straighten.
The warning gives Brent reason to pause his erratic—and useless—attempts at drying his drenched pants. “What am I supposed to do about this mess?”
“There are paper towels in the can.” Garrett hitches a thumb behind him.
“Dammit,” he spits. “I was about to smash this pussy. Now I gotta stick my junk in the spin cycle.”
“Gross.” My gasp at the vulgar description gains Brent’s glare. The wince tightening my expression is apparently a next-level offense.
“Don’t give me that wounded look. As if I wanted anything more from you other than a juicy fuck.”
The slap of his comment strikes directly at my pride that’s only sensitive to a select few topics. I suck in a sharp breath that sputters, much to my embarrassment. The past I’ve tried to leave behind races onto the scene with an onset that’s so sudden it’s painful. I can’t mask the hurt. My smile slips into a rejected flat line. Heat stings my vision until the bar is a blur.
“Get. Out.” Barely restrained fury vibrates in Garrett’s bellowed command.
Brent reels back as if he’s actually bothered. “Excuse me?”
Drake and Ridge materialize to flank Garrett for the parting blow. “We don’t want your business. You’re not welcome here. Show yourself out.”
“Whatever. Fuck this.” Brent slinks off like the soggy crotch he is.
Even with the douche canoe gone, my mood plummets. I curl inward against the pressure caving in. The excess weight on my figure becomes encased in iron. I’m a heavy lump wasting too much space. Someone skinnier and looser should take my spot. The ugly insults form a relentless attack until I crumple under the force. It’s more than I can handle.
I don’t need a man to validate how I feel about my body. But it really fucking sucks when someone spews hateful words meant to attack my character.
Garrett vaults himself over the counter to land in front of me. His palms rest on my shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into the tension there. Then he goes and hauls me in for a hug that’s nothing short of electric. His touch sends my stomach into a somersault routine fit for an Olympic gymnast. Of course, the guy who’s made it perfectly clear he’s not relationship material is the only one I respond to.
“Don’t let that asshole get to you,” he murmurs into my hair. With this casual embrace, he’s shoving my insecurities back into the dark corners where they belong.
My nod is jerky against his chest. “I’m trying not to. It’s just… hard to hear.”
“Not to mention a brazen lie. He doesn’t deserve to be in the same area code as you.”
“Thanks.” I grin, but the edges wobble. “My ex spewed similar venom when I had the audacity to ask where our relationship was headed. Turns out he was just stringing me along as a sidepiece. He never intended for me to be anything more than a thick and chunky screw.” I shudder. “His words, not mine. Brent reminded me of him just now. Hit too close to history.”
“Fuck both of them.” He releases me to stare directly into my eyes. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
Other than tumble head-over-heels desperately in love with me?
I laugh at my own pathetic musings, though the tune lacks humor. “Get me good and drunk.”
Garrett’s smirk is already working to restore my spirits. “You got it, soulmate.”
