Page 18 of Ruck Me Harder

We’re nothing to each other. It was one night, three years ago. It meant nothing.

Except it changed everything for me.

A warm body slides in beside me. The familiar scent of sandalwood and leather wash over me as Tony fucking Gonzales stands next to me. Why does he have to smell so good? I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale. Except not his neck. Just the neck of the guy that smells that good.

He’s discarded his leather jacket, resting his forearms on the bar beside me. He doesn’t look at me.

“What are you doing here?” I bite out.

To my surprise, he chuckles. “It’s always what are you doing here with you, never, hi, it’s nice to see you again.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” Tony says lightly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I’m with my friends.” The words are hard to say.

“So am I.”

The bartender makes his way over to us, greeting Tony first.

“She was here first,” he says, hooking his thumb in my direction.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, looking bored.

“One of each on the appetizer menu, plus an extra order of the spicy cauliflower,” I order. “Thanks.”

He nods at me, walking over to the terminal to enter the order.

“That’s a lot of food,” Tony comments.

“That’s a lot of none of your fucking business,” I tell him blandly.

The bartender returns with the check. Glancing at the receipt to make sure it’s correct, I give him my card.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks Tony.

Like it’s coming through static, I hear him placing an order for multiple drinks. I take a slow, deep breath, but it doesn’t help the static feeling inside my head. He makes me lose all sense of myself. I don’t like it. I know who I am; I like who I am.

I don’t like what he’s turned me into—now, or back then.

Turning away, I head back to my table. I’ve only made it two steps when I stumble.

But before I can hit the ground, there are hands catching me. Tony yanks me upright and doesn’t let go of me until I’m back on my two feet.

“Careful, there,” he says, and I can’t decide if I’m reading into it or if he’s mocking me. “Damn, how much have you had to drink?”

“I’m sober.” I scowl at him. Straightening my shirt, I glare at him. Why did he have to be the one to catch me? “Thanks,” I mutter after a beat.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice dipping. He leans closer. “Listen⁠—”

I shake my head. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to prolong this any longer than I have to.

“I’ve got to go,” I say, hooking a thumb back at my friends.

“Do you want to⁠—”

“No.” I want nothing to do with him.