10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
B raxton
My knuckles whiten as I clench the mug of my beer, my gaze searing holes through the college-age idiots at the next table who just laughed obnoxiously at something Rose said. The sound grates on my nerves like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.
These frat bro guys are batting out of their league.
She’s bent to refill their beers with a pitcher, her cut-off shorts hugging her ass, the curves of her cheeks peeking out, and the boys’ eyes follow her every move with an appreciation that sends a jolt of rage through my veins. I want to leap across the table, and grab each of them by their throats for daring to bask in what I consider my own private sun that’s Rose Flowers.
"Here you go, Mr. Barrows," Rose's bright voice breaks through my jealous thoughts as she sets a plate in front of me. Her smile, however, doesn’t reach her eyes, and her use of my last name is a painful reminder of our age difference, which was intentional on her part.
"Rose," my voice is low and tense, "you think I don't see the way you're flirting with every Tom, Dick, and Harry in this place? What are you trying to prove?"
She cocks her head to the side, a strand of pale hair falling across her forehead.
Damn me if she’s not the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
“And what if I am? It's not like I’m no t young and single."
Her sass hit me harder than a slap in the face. Why is that so fucking hot? I have this insane urge to throw her over my lap and spank the brat out of her. Audience be damned.
Without another word, she slaps the check down next to my untouched plate and saunters over to the table of horny boys again. They perk up like a pack of dogs at the sight of a bone as she approaches, her laughter floating back to me, both mocking and challenging.
My jaw is clenched so hard, I think I feel my teeth crack. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to spring. But I remain seated, eyes tracking her every interaction as though willing her to feel the weight of my stare.
Eventually, pissed for putting myself through this torture, I reach in my pocket for a wad of cash, the crisp bills crumpling as I fling the money down, leaving a generous tip.
Pushing back from the table, the legs of the chair screech in protest. Then, standing up, I feel resolved. No more hesitation. No more doubts. Age be damned. Rose Flowers will be mine, and no juvenile pack of frat boys are going to touch what’s mine..
With a predatory stride, I make my way to the group of horny idiots. They’re oblivious, lost in their beer, bullshit, and lewd talk about the waitress who just graced them with her presence.
"Shit! Did you see her tits,man?" One boy snickers, elbowing his friend. "Bet she..."
"Finish that sentence, and you'll be eating through a fucking straw," I growl menacingly. My shadow looming over the table.
The laughter dies abruptly, and wide-eyed stares look up from their beers. The bullshit bravado drains from their faces. One swallows loudly, another’s leg starts nervously bouncing under the table, but not one can muster the courage to meet my challenge.
"Understood?" I say softly, not a question, so much as an order..
They mumble in agreement, each barely audible. Satisfied with the fear I’d instilled, I know now I’ll do whatever it takes, cross any line, break fucking bones if necessary, but Rose will be mine. Nothing will stand in my way. Not age, not these boys, not even Rose's own sass and independence.