Page 58 of One Wrong Step
Chapter Nineteen
Vivian
It turns out the hot cowboy is an asshole. And not one that’s a little bit grumpy, but you secretly like him. This guy’s a real prick.
Normally, I mind my own business. Or I try to. It’s not that I don’t care about other people’s woes. It’s just you never know what got them there or if they like being there. So, when the hot cowboy tells his equally hot, if not hotter, girlfriend to stop being such a whore, I bristle. But then I let it go. At least until I see Jonah’s face. This man will not let it go. George will never forgive me if his son gets hurt or arrested.
And I have a feeling hot cowboy would like nothing more than to punch my sweet farm boy in the face.
“What are you looking at?” he asks Jonah.
I carefully step between them. “Let’s not be hasty, boys. No one’s looking for a fight.”
Jonah snorts. I turn and poke him in the chest. “No fighting.”
The no-longer-hot cowboy snickers. “Better listen to wifey.”
I whip around and get in his face. “Listen here, dickhead.”
He raises his hands and laughs. “Oh, did I hit a nerve? Are you gonna fight me?”
The woman smacks his arm. “Nobody’s fighting. I’m fine. We’re all fine,” she says. “Tony just gets a little dickish when he drinks. A little mouthy. And if he doesn’t stop, I’m cutting him off.”
His eyes go comically wide. “Babe…”
She rolls her eyes. “Not that. I’m cutting you off from alcohol.” Then she narrows her eyes. “Unless you don’t stop being an ass.”
He glowers at us. “Fine.”
“Now apologize to these people.”
“Me apologize?” He puffs up again. “No fucking way am I apologizing.” He waves his hand around. I try to duck, but I’m not fast enough, and he knocks me over.
I flail—I hope no one got that on video—and go down, my face making contact with a table. Thank fuck for alcohol, or the pain would have been excruciating.
I grab my throbbing cheek. Fuck. That’s going to leave a bruise I’ll have to cover.
Jonah growls. His face is almost purple, and he looks ready to murder the guy. I put my hand on his chest. “Hold on, cowboy. I need you. And you can’t help me from jail.”
The woman drags Tony away, and the crowd goes back to drinking.
Jonah brushes his fingers over my face, careful not to touch my cheek. “Does it hurt?”
“Not too bad yet. But we need ice.”
He leads me to the bar. “Do you guys have ice?” he asks, sounding a little frantic.
It’s cute. It’s not worth the pain and ugly bruise I’ll have tomorrow. But it’s cute.
“I can do you one better,” the bartender says. He pulls out an ice pack and breaks it. “Here you go.”
As I apply it to my cheek, Jonah looks ready to scream or cry. I smack his chest. “I’m the one injured, not you. Let’s go back to our room. Party of two. No assholes allowed.”
As soon as we return from the bar, I change into leggings and a long, comfortable T-shirt. Jonah goes to get supplies.
Not the fun kind. A new ice pack and pain meds.
Meanwhile, my brain is spiraling. Was telling Jonah I needed him a mistake? I might regret it in the morning. I don’t usually let anyone take care of me. People tend to let you down.
