Page 2 of My Girl to Protect
“What?” He shrugs. “Just stating facts.”
His gaze drifts to my legs. To the hem of my diner uniform. “You know men tip better when the waitress looks like you.”
My cheeks burn with humiliation. “I’m going to bed.I’ve got the early shift,” I murmur. My chest starts to feel tight.
“Hold on a second,” he says.
“What?” I swallow.
Rick lifts his beer and takes a long drink before speaking again. “Your mom didn’t pay her share of the rent this month. She’s short,and the landlord’s breathing down my neck.”
“That’s not my responsibility,” I say quietly.
Rick tilts his head. “Maybe not.” His eyes darken. “But you live here too.”
My hands curl into fists. “I already pay for groceries.”
He pushes off the doorframe slowly. “Yeah, I know. It’s not enough, though.” He takes a step inside my room. “I’m just saying,” he continues casually, “maybe you could help out.”
“I don’t have any extra money.”
He smirks. “I didn’t say it had to be money.”
Cold dread floods my body. I just know, immediately, what he means. Months of living in fear, waiting for the other shoe to drop—and now I wish I had left before it could.
“No,” I blurt out.
His gaze drops to my chest. Back to my face. “Oh, come on,” he says softly. “Don’t act like you don’t know how the world works.” He steps closer.
“You’re a pretty girl,” Rick murmurs. “Real pretty.” His fingers brush my arm, and something inside me snaps.
“Don’t touch me!” I shove him hard.
He stumbles back, more surprised than hurt. It’s enough. I slam the door in his face and twist the lock. For a second, there’s silence. Then—BANG. My entire body jumps.
“Cammi,” he says, voice lower now. Dangerous. “Open the door.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “Go away!”
BANG. The door shakes again. My breathing comes fast.
“You don’t want to make things difficult. You owe rent.”
“I said I don’t have it!”
“Then we can work something out.” BANG. “Open. The. Door.”
Tears blur my vision. I back away until my legs hit the bed and I collapse onto it, clutching my phone with shaking hands.Who do I call?
My hands tremble as I scroll through my contacts.One name.Millie—the only person from the diner who’s ever felt like a friend, the one who keeps telling me I deserve better than this. I don’t think. I press call.
It rings once. Twice. Then—
“Cammi?” Millie’s voice is soft but alert.
Tears spill down my cheeks instantly. “Millie,” I whisper.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
