Hilary
The second the door shuts behind Eric, I grab David’s hand.
“Back room. Now.”
I don’t wait for an answer.
I just drag him.
Through the narrow aisle. Past Romance. Past the register where Maribel is pretending very hard not to be listening. Straight into the small office in the back.
The second we’re inside, I turn on him.
“What the hell was that?”
He blinks.
“Excuse me?”
“That,” I snap, pacing once before spinning back toward him. “The caveman routine? The growling? The ‘get your fucking hands off her’—who do you think you are?”
His jaw tightens.
“He had his hands on you.”
“I had it handled.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you step in like that?” I demand.
Because it wasn’t just stepping in.
It was something else.
Something bigger.
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s trying to get a grip on himself.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
That stops me cold.
“You don’t know?” I repeat.
His eyes lock on mine—dark, intense, and way too honest.
“No,” he says. “I saw him touch you and something in me just snapped.”
My pulse jumps.
“That’s not normal, David.”
“I’m aware,” he mutters.
I cross my arms, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he’s standing way too close in a room that suddenly feels way too small.
“You don’t get to do that,” I say. “You don’t get to act like I’m—like I belong to you.”