I tense. My stomach clenches. I’ve listened to too many true crime documentaries for that line to land well.
“I said I’m good.”
The bartender places my Diet Coke in front of me, but before I can grab it, Blond Guy scoffs and pulls it out of my reach. I lean forward to grab it back, and his hand darts out and encircles my wrist. It’s not a hard grip, but it’s entitled. Like he’s owed my attention and conversation, and he isn’t very good at taking no for an answer.
There is a shuffle of feet behind me, and Blond Guy peers over my shoulder, brows furrowing in annoyance.
“I wouldn’t move another fucking inch if I were you.”
Rhodes’ voice is low.Lethal. Heat floods my chest and my breath comes fast and uneven. His hand immediately releases my wrist, and Rhodes tugs me into his side.
“We were just talking,” Blond Guy says, irritated.
Rhodes’ expression is unreadable, but his posture isn’t. My eyes roam over the squared shoulders, his tight jaw. Predatory in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.
I swear, the entire bar has tilted in his direction.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Beck and Tyler flank his sides, a wall of broad shoulders, sharp glares, and hockey players who have zero patience for this kind of bullshit.
My own personal team of bodyguards. If I was a girl who swooned, I think I’d be swooning.
“Sounds like Monroe here said no,” Beck says, tipping his beer back. “Isn’t that right?” He nods to me.
I swallow,my pulse hammering against my throat. “Yup,” I say, popping thep.Part of me wants to be annoyed at them for not letting me handle this on my own. Letting people help me doesn’t come easily to me.
But I’ve been doing a lot of things that haven’t been easy for me lately, and my dad would be proud of them for stepping in, so I guess I’m letting it happen.
Blond Guy looks between the three of them, realizing too late that he’s made a mistake.
“Jesus, man, relax, she was being kind of a bit—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Tyler’s voice starts but it’s too late. Rhodes is swinging on Blond Guy, and his fist collides with his jaw. His head snaps back at the contact and bar patrons back up around us, gawking at the commotion.
“Ah, shit,” Beck swears behind us. Rhodes grabs the guy’s shirt and pulls him up, speaking low enough for his words to land like an atomic bomb.
“Let me be very clear.” His voice is even. Unshakable. “Your face isn’t the first I’ve broken on my girl’s behalf, and it very likely won’t be the last.”
My stomach drops and something twists in my chest.My girl.Was I clear as mud when I saidslow? Did Rhodes hear that and thinkrun full speed ahead?
Still, the words echo in my head, over and over, louder than the bass of the music.
Blond Guy glares at Rhodes, leaning against a chair in support, a bruise already forming on his face. “Didn’t realize she was taken.”
“She is.”
The finality in his voice is like a slam of a door. The bartender is finally taking notice, too little too late, and the bouncers are dragging Blond Guy toward the front of the bar. He mutters something aboutcrazy fuckinghockey playersbefore disappearing with them into the crowd. Thank God Rhodes is like royalty in this place. I can only hope the people here tonight love him enough not to spread another video of Rhodes punching someone in the face.
Over me. Again.
Dad would be thrilled.
Rhodes watches him go, chest rising and falling slowly, measured.
I blink up at him, still half-stunned.
“You all right?” he asks, voice gravelly, deep. I nod, slowly. Because what else is there to say? Rhodes doesn’t move for a second. Then his hand finds my waist, warm and possessive.