Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Get your fucking hand off me, asswipe, was what I said in my head.
When he didn’t let go, I pulled my hand free and my shoulders back. “Please don’t do that again,” I bit out. My father had always taught me never to take shit from anyone, least of all a man. And this little bastard I was looking at clearly thought he had some kind of right to do whatever he wanted. He needed his ass knocked down a few pegs. “Is there something else you needed?” I asked quickly, not bothering to keep the tightness out of my voice.
All-American didn’t seem perturbed at all on my change of attitude or the fact that he’d overstepped bounds. In fact, I saw the flair of interest fire back, as if me fighting his pathetic displacing of misogynist dominance turned him on even more.
He leaned forward, his grin widening even more. “Yeah, you can actually be of more assistance. How about giving me your number?”
Chatter all around filled my head, and I felt my face get hot once more from my anger. Unfortunately, in the bar scene, this wasn’t totally unusual behavior. There were guys who got drunk and thought they had a run at the world. I experienced it as a customer at places, and even a few times when I'd been a waitress at the diner and they’d come in already wasted.
The other three guys at the table kept their mouths shut, but I could sense them getting uncomfortable, the sound of shifting on seats and the legs of the chairs scraping across the floor echoing all around.
“Sorry, that’s not what we serve here at Lyrics. If you guys need anything else to eat or drink, just let me know.” But please don’t, ’cause I’ve already written you off.
I turned to leave, not giving him any more attention, but I was frozen in place as soon as I faced forward because Bishop blocked my way. His huge body took up my entire view, causing me to crane my head up, up, and up just to look in his face. And damn did his face look good and pissed off.
His focus was trained right on something over my head, and I knew without a doubt he was looking at All-American.
Bishop ground his jaw, the scruff underneath his cheeks making him seem a little bit harsher, a little rawer.
“Bishop?” I said his name softly, glancing around and seeing the only people who were focused on us were Pyper and the other waiter, Regan. Their eyes were wide as if this was totally not normal Bishop behavior. Or maybe they’d never experienced this side of him because they hadn’t been harassed by some drunken assholes.
Although I found that hard to believe, as this certainly wasn’t a one-off for waitstaff when having to deal with this shit.
“You four assholes need to leave.”
I actually shivered at the venom in Bishop’s voice when he said that low command.
I glanced over my shoulder to see All-American looking at his three buddies for backup. But his friends were looking away, clearly taking in the size of Bishop and the hard, unyielding tone and knowing they were no match.
Smart assholes.
“We are paying customers,” All-American slurred, holding up his beer as if that made his point.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are. You put your hands on an employee, and that’s automatic grounds for getting kicked the hell out.” Bishop gently pulled me to the side and behind him, as if he meant to protect and shield me.
“Aren’t you the bartender? Like who gave you authority to throw paying customers out?”
I heard the growl before All-American did. It was this deep vibration that slammed into my body. Bishop had his hand wrapped around the asshole’s shirt collar before I could even take a breath.
Bishop hauled All-American up and out of the seat, and snapped out, “You three, get the fuck out before I toss you out like your stupid fucking friend here.”
The three of them got up quickly, their stools scraping across the floor loudly. I was keenly aware of everyone in the bar quieting, the people watching us a heavy presence that surrounded me. I moved off to the side just as Bishop all but forced All-American to the door by his collar before tossing his ass out.
“Come into Lyrics again and I’ll beat your ass personally,” I heard Bishop murmur lowly, dangerously.
Once the front door was shut once more, there was a moment of silence right before a loud eruption of clapping and hooting and hollering came from the patrons.
Some might think Bishop would have looked smug after what he’d done and the reaction the customers gave him, but his expression was deep, that scowl still in place.
His head swung in my direction, and his eyes landed on me. I gasped from the intensity with which he stared at me, as if… I was his.