Page 122 of Hometown Halftime

“What the hell was that?” she demands.

“He grabbed you.” I say, trying to slow my heartrate.

“And I said I had it handled.”

“He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

She scoffs. “That doesn’t mean you have to drag him through the bar like a damn caveman!”

I run a hand over my face, adrenaline still crackling under my skin.

“Kinsey, he was touching you,” I say slowly, my voice strained.

“And I’m a grown woman capable of handling an asshole customer!”

Half the bar crowds the front window behind her, watching us. Fantastic, just fucking fantastic.

“I know that,” I say, trying and failing to calm my voice. “But he kept pushing, and you were clearly uncomfortable—”

“Because he’s annoying, Riley! Not because I needed you starting a fight in the middle of Gordy’s!”

The frustration on her face is painful to see. Because somewhere beneath the anger, embarrassment flickers there too. And suddenly I realize exactly what I had just done.

Kinsey exhales sharply before pointing toward the door. “I have to finish my shift. You should go home.”

“I’m sorry, Kinsey.”

Before I can turn away, she steps closer and lowers her voice.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

Then she spins and heads back toward the entrance. That’s when both of us notice Debbie Carmichael standing near the doorway holding her phone directly toward us.

Debbie lowers the phone slowly when we look at her.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says brightly. “Just documenting local events.”

Kinsey closes her eyes briefly. “Debbie…”

Debbie beams. “This is definitely making Cedar Falls Happenings by morning.”

Kinsey doesn’t look at me as she curses under her breath and walks back into the bar. I walk to my truck and drive home.

Chapter forty-nine

Kinsey

I spent the last hour of my shift aggressively wiping down tables while mentally drafting Riley Weston’s obituary.

Cause of death? Possessiveness, public displays of honor, and making me furious because my hormones are encouraging me to think Riley dragging a man out of a bar was hot.

Unfortunately for me, the man in question is sitting shirtless at the kitchen island when I walk into the duplex with a bottle of water in front of him and guilt written all over his face.

Keep your wits about you, Malone. Do not let the shirtless situation derail your anger.

“You’re still awake,” I say flatly while dropping my keys onto the bowl by the door.

Riley leans back on the stool. “Yeah.”