Page 2 of The Summer Fling
But I'd be lying if I said it didn't irk me just a bit that he's the one making her laugh.
That should be me. Apparently, it bothers me enough that the next half hour is a blur.
I've signed off on a delivery I didn't check, approved something I didn't read, and spent time pretending the draft list I memorized is suddenly fascinating. All because a tourist with freckles and blue eyes walked into my bar.
This is insane. I don't do this. I don't get distracted by customers, no matter how good they look in lace shorts. I sure as hell don't find the need to trace freckles with the tip of my tongue.
The fuck.
My eyes snag on her again when she shifts in her chair, tucking one leg under her, and the movement makes her tank top ride up just enough to show a strip of pale skin above her waistband. My cock reacts immediately, getting hard enough that I have to adjust my position behind the bar. Jesus Christ. So now I can't trust my own body?
"You're pathetic," Eli says, not looking up from the lime he's cutting.
"I'm working."
"You're stalking. If I asked you for a hundred percent raise, you would have said yes."
"Did you?"
"No, but I should have, and that's beside the point."
"Hey there, beautiful."
I look up to see some asshole in board shorts and Ray-Bans approaching her table. The kind of guy who wears sunglasses indoors and has probably never been on a board in his life. Probably named Chad or Brad or Kyle. Here on Daddy's money.
She looks up at him with a polite smile, but as I said, I've seen enough solo female tourists to know when someone doesn't want company. So many of them come to the island to relax and unwind, and these dude bros see that as an invitation.
Shore Thing—my bar slash restaurant—is a safe place. I repeat that to my staff and enforce it as much as I can. Women can come here, and they know they're safe. Anyone here, including me, is willing to jump in to help any time.
Her shoulders draw up, the smile she gives him switching from genuine to wary. She angles herself away from him, creating space.
Anyone with two eyes and half a brain can realize she doesn't want to chat with him.
But Chad or Brad or Kyle doesn't have half a brain. Instead of moving away and cutting his losses, he leans closer, closing that space right back up.
"You here alone? Mind if I join you?"
"Actually, I'm?—"
"Come on, don't be like that. I'm harmless."
I'm not the only one watching. Security, Eli, and other staff swing their gazes to her.
The moment he drapes an arm over the back of her chair, I approach them, trying to look calm even though I'm raging on the inside. I am a civilized man, and I do not condone violence, but in this moment, I just want to smash my fist into that smug face of his.
The walk feels longer than it is, but I keep my pace easy. Casual. No rush. When you're 6'5", you don't have to hurry to make an impression. Chad or Brad or Kyle is at least a few inches shorter than me.
"Hey, man." I stop beside his table, close enough that he has to look up. "You're bothering my girl."
My first impression that Chad or Brad or Kyle doesn't have half a brain is confirmed when the space between his eyebrows scrunches. He darts his eyes to her, then to me, then back to her. "You're with her?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't call her my girl if I wasn't. Would I?"
His eyebrows almost reach his hairline as he nods slowly. With one more longing glance at her, he shrugs. "Oh. Sorry. Didn't know she was taken."
He's gone in ten seconds.
She watches him leave before lifting a brow at me, the side of her mouth lifting. "Your girl?"
