Chapter 31
I holdin another sigh as my date continues to explain his last stint on a pipeline in Fort McMurray in explicit detail. I’ve already downed two glasses of red wine, even though I hate the taste, needing something to help dull the pain in my chest and the growing blaze of annoyance from the first few moments of this date.
When Kyle pulled up at the restaurant fifteen minutes late in a lifted truck with a welding rig in the back and a quote about boobs on the rear window, I should have turned around and driven back home.
The dirty jeans, steel-toe boots, ratty flannel, and flat-brimmed hat that would fly off with the slightest breeze had my fight-or-flight response shrieking. I’ve never minded jeans and boots on a date, but would it have killed him to make sure they had at least been washed in the last month?
“Holy fuck, I was laying the fattest dimes out there. The inspector said I was the deadliest he’d ever seen,” he boasts, puffing out his chest and sniffing for the millionth time since we sat down.
“Laying dimes?” I repeat, twirling my thumbs in my lap beneath the table.
Kyle rolls his eyes and gulps back the dregs of his second beer before explaining, “Welds, sweetheart. I am a welder.”
I blink slowly at him, fisting my hands. An angry flush crawls up my chest and throat at the condescending tone. “I see.”
“You ever been with a welder before? Or do I get to pop your cherry?”
“My cherry has long since been popped, sweetheart,” I grit out. “And I’ve never had the absolute honour of being with a welder before.”
Where did Bryce find this guy? A gutter?
I glance around the small restaurant in search of the waitress. If I don’t get another drink in front of me in the next ten minutes, this guy is going to need to weld himself back together.
“What do you do for work, anyway? Part-time, I assume?” he asks, ignoring my clear distaste for him.
It would be easy enough to get up and leave right now, but I didn’t spend hours of my day finding an outfit, putting makeup on, and doing my hair just to skip out before I’ve gotten to fill my growling stomach. If that means I have to suffer through this terrible company for just long enough to get my burger in front of me and inhale it, then so be it.
With the waitress nowhere in sight and the entire space empty besides us, I settle back into the booth and clear my throat. “No. Not part-time. I own a pole studio.”
A dirty gleam twinkles in his eyes. “Shit, a strip club, eh? Are all the dancers built like you? If so, you can put me down for one VIP ticket. Well, as long as I’m not back on the grind yet.”
I swallow my rage as it tries to claw its way up. “No. Not a strip club. And what does that mean? Built like me?”
“Chill, babe. I just mean that you’re thick as fuck. That ain’t a bad thing. A bit of meat on the bones turns me all the way on.” He licks his lips. “Not gonna lie, I have a raging stiffy right now.”
My stomach rolls, hunger disappearing in a blink. No burger is worth being subjected to this asshole’s presence for a millisecond longer.
What on earth was Bryce thinking setting me up with him? Good God.
“Your Tinder photos didn’t even do you justice. I wasn’t expecting all of this to show up here, but now . . .” He groans, his eyes perusing my body with a greedy tinge that has me wishing I had brought a jacket to cover myself with. “Shit. We can get out of here now. Whatcha say?”
Tinder. Oh, she’s so, so fucking dead.
“There’s not a chance in hell that I’m leaving with you, Kyle,” I say boldly, my head shaking, curled hair bobbing.
The appallingly expensive, deep red lip gloss I got from my parents for Christmas last year that I stupidly chose to wear tonight has been wasted. A not-so-new dress, but one I’ve only worn a handful of times, wasted on a guy who doesn’t appreciate the beauty of it but only the way it shows my cleavage and sucks in my stomach. The ache in my toes from my pointed-toe heels, again, wasted. All of it for nothing.
Feeling let down, it’s hard to keep my thoughts of Garrison from breaking free of the box I shoved them into this week. It’s like open season as everything comes running free, doubts and hurt snapping at one another, fighting for dominance. My eyes burn, tears springing to life before dripping down my cheek. I don’t even know if I’m sad, angry, or both as I swipe them away.
Kyle notices my tears and cringes, reeling back in the booth. “Woah. None of that.”
I don’t have anything to say to him. If I managed a single word without breaking out in sobs, it would be a miracle. So I don’t try. Dropping my head in my hands, I watch him with one eye open.
He darts his eyes around the restaurant before shoving to his feet, flashing me a tight-lipped grimace, and jabbing his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “I’m just gonna . . .”
“No, you’re fucking not.”
The growl comes from behind Kyle. I snap my head up, both eyes searching behind his lanky body for a glimpse of the owner of that rigid voice. Hope tears through me, and I hate it as much as I love it.
“Feel free to take my place, bud, but I’m out of here,” Kyle says, looking over his shoulder.
The laugh that follows is dark, deep, and powerful. I shiver, anticipation bubbling beneath my skin.
“Sit down. Now.”
Kyle goes rigid. I hold my breath, waiting for him to move.
He slowly comes back to the table, and I watch out of my peripheral vision as he slides into the booth across from me once again. It’s all the attention he gets from me. I can’t tear my eyes from the man standing back a few steps from the table, his hands in the pockets of a pair of black slacks and eyes greener than I’ve ever seen them.
“What are you doing here?” I ask tightly, praying he can’t see the rapid thump of my pulse in my throat.
Garrison continues to stare at me, eyes drifting slow and steady over every inch of my face. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He’s calm, appearing more settled than I’ve seen him outside of those two days in bed when he was half out of his mind on cold medicine.
My heart flutters, expanding too big. Every second of silence is a test of my patience.
“Who’s your date?” he rasps.
It’s not what I wanted him to say. Not by a long shot.
“It’s not— It’s no longer a date. His name is Kyle.”
“You her boyfriend or something?” Kyle grumbles.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” Garrison declares at the same time.
I gape at him, disbelief turning my mind to mush. His calm demeanour shifts to something with sharp, serrated edges.
Kyle takes Garrison’s answer and runs with it. “So, you’re in an open relationship, then?”
It’s the wrong thing to ask. My “boyfriend” slides into the booth beside him, blocking his exit, and chuckles. His mouth tilts into a cruel smile that makes me throb between my legs.
CEO Garrison Beckett has arrived, and the ice-cold persona is as sexy as it is disconcerting. It’s interesting how quickly he can fall back into it, like it’s truly a part of him. If it is, I wouldn’t have cared.
“How old are you, Kyle?”
“Twenty-two.”
My eyes bulge. Twenty-two? A four-year age difference wouldn’t be a bad thing if maturity wasn’t a problem, which clearly, it is with Kyle.
I don’t feel bad for him as he’s held beneath Garrison’s steel gaze. He deserves it for the way he spoke to me.
Garrison may have hurt me by not being honest, but he never disrespected me the way Kyle’s just done.
“And you think that you deserve to be with a woman like Poppy?” Garrison asks. He inspects the table, eyeing the two empty glasses of wine, the beer glass, and the crushed Monster energy drink Kyle brought in with him earlier. “She doesn’t even like red wine. Did you know that?”
“’Course I didn’t. This is our first time meeting,” Kyle rambles.
My brow twitches. I’ve never told Garrison my wine preference. Only that I prefer cocktails over any other alcohol option unless I’m looking to wake up with regrets.
“And were you about to leave her here without settling the bill? I hope you weren’t expecting her to pay for you as well as herself.”
Kyle blanches. “Look, she’s clearly not into the date, and I’m not into crying women. That’s for you to deal with.”
I inhale sharply, closing my eyes before I feel the weight of Garrison’s attention snap to me. So, he hadn’t seen my minor breakdown, then.
“You made her cry?” he asks, cold as death.
“I only offered we leave?—”
Garrison has them both up and out of the booth by the time my eyes fly open. A sleek black wallet lands on the table in front of me, and my throat tightens up.
“Pay the bill, Poppy. I’ll be outside when you’re finished,” Garrison orders coolly.
My gut twinges. “You’re not paying for my date.”
“Well, you’re fucking not. Just use the black card. PIN is 7401.”
And with that, he hauls Kyle out of the restaurant, making it look far too easy. With weak fingers, I touch the leather wallet and slide it over the table toward me. I stare out the windows, finding Garrison shoving Kyle in front of him and cocking his head, a predator sizing up his next meal.
It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. But at this point, I’m positive there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. I love Garrison’s brutal side. I like fighting my own battles, but I don’t mind him handling a few on my behalf. It’s nice having people in your life that are willing to do that. Especially when you’re falling in love with one of them.
I just wish he wasn’t so confusing. I’ve turned myself inside out trying to figure this man out, and I’m tired.
Spreading the wallet open, I swallow my surprise at how few cards there are in the slots. There’s the black card in question that I’m terrified to touch, his ID tucked in the clear slot, a gold credit card, another bank card that I can’t bring myself to snoop at, and a loyalty card for a grocery store that I don’t recognize.
In the back flap, there’s a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, a couple of receipts, and a small square photo. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I slide it out, holding it in front of me.
My stomach bottoms out when I see the family photo. It looks old, judging not only by the yellowing of the edges but also by the age of the boy between his parents. He’s got to be about thirteen. I’d recognize him anywhere, regardless of age. He hasn’t changed that much over the years.
Having seen photos of Reggie, I recognize him next. The woman is a new face who must be Garrison’s mother. She’s beautiful. Dainty too. So at odds with her giraffe of a son.
I glance out the window again and snatch the black card out of the wallet before tucking it into my purse and scrambling out of the booth. Garrison’s nose to nose with Kyle, his hand in the air, finger pointing at the truck he drove here in. The odds of him knocking Kyle out aren’t exactly tipped in my favour right now, so I move quickly to find the waitress and settle the bill.
She gives me an odd glance as I slide the card into the machine and input the PIN but doesn’t say anything. We’ve already put on a big enough show for the entirety of the staff. I’d like to leave without another.
As soon as the payment is confirmed, I move as quickly as my heeled feet will allow. Every step that brings me to Garrison feels like an eternity, and once I’m close enough to notice the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders and the painful clench of his jaw, I’m stepping between him and Kyle.
Laying a hand against Garrison’s chest, I ignore the buzz beneath my fingers and narrow my eyes on Kyle. He’s definitely not a fighter type. To be fair, I thought he’d have taken off by now.
“Please, just go.”
It’s an ego thing, the way he takes advantage of me separating him and Garrison and uses it to try and have the last word.
“Once you’ve had fun with soft hands here, hit me up and I’ll rough you up a bit,” he sneers, speaking to me but looking at the man behind me.
“You’ll stay the fuck away from her.”
Garrison’s snarl sends Kyle taking a step back. And another, until he’s able to hop into his truck and lock the doors behind him, as if we’d bother chasing after him.
There’s a soft touch on my shoulder that drifts over my bicep before finally stilling on my breastbone. I swallow the emotion clogging my throat and focus on not collapsing against the hard, familiar body pressed to my back.
“He never should have been within ten feet of you.”
“You don’t get to have a say in that, Garrison,” I whisper.
“What if I wanted one?”
I shut my eyes, tuning out the atrocious rumble of Kyle’s truck and focusing on the steady sounds of Garrison’s breathing. His other hand circles my hip and remains there, just holding me there against him. I tip my head back, resting it against his shoulder.
“Then I’d say you better start grovelling.”