Chapter 18 #3
I clutch at my ribs and double over, giggles escaping me uncontrollably. Annemarie may look like a flighty neo-pagan, but her wit and compassion make me love her.
I’m gasping for air when I feel an erection press against my ass at the same time that two hands grip my hips, from each side, and pull me hard up against it.
Part of me is hoping it’s Flint, but the majority of me knows that's not the case.
I whirl around, my arms maybe somewhat not controlled to face whoever has just assaulted my body with his own.
Brett.
Fucking. Brett.
And now he’s using the dance floor as an excuse to get his dick anywhere near me.
Gross.
Annemarie told me that by dodging and declining each and every hint that he wants to date, I’ve made myself unattainable and even more intriguing. She also offered to bitch slap him if he continues to show up, but so far, I’ve declined her very gracious offer.
His hands are gliding up my body, toward my breasts, while his hips continue to gyrate against my ass, to the beat of the music.
I try to step away, to put some space between his body and mine, but he lowers one arm to wrap around my hips, holding me in place.
I manage to turn, even with his arm pinning me against him.
Putting my hands against his grossly sweaty chest, I push as hard as I can given the limited space.
He stumbles back a little. I don’t even hear the entirety of his next statement before I’m pushing him again, furious beyond all reckoning that he touched me without my permission.
Brett, like the scumbag he is, raises his hands in a placating gesture and I want to claw his eyes out.
Just because I don’t come out often doesn’t mean I don’t hear the reports and gossip of his behavior with women.
This man (and I use the term loosely) is absolutely disgusting and I want no part of it.
I can feel the anger gathering under my skin and it feels like the entirety of the dance floor sags as I replace my hands and shove him again. He goes farther this time, severing the connection between his body and mine.
Before I can get my bearings, Annemarie is between Brett and I, shoving me aside and behind her, as she unleashes her not so inconsiderable wrath upon him.
One thing I have always loved about Anne — her inability to give a fuck.
Sure, she preaches light and love, but when it comes down to it, she would go to the mat for someone she loves and she fights dirty.
I vaguely hear Brett going on, “ You’re wearing that for me, not for other people.
Everyone is able to see you because, let’s be clear, you’re only trying to impress me, but it looks like you’re trying to impress the whole room.
” His gaze rakes down to my breasts which, yes, are sort of displayed, but in a feminine, empowering way.
He continues, “I’m sure you got off on all the attention but, com’on. My attention is the one she was looking for. So…” his gaze travels down my body again and, suddenly, I feel dirty. “In the future, you will cover up and leave all of this for me.”
At that point, I’m pretty sure I blacked out because I imagined that Anne, my sweet, gentle, live and let-live Annemarie… punched him.
Brett’s head snaps back with the force of the female rage Annemarie had behind that punch.
Before Brett is able to do much more than shake his head as if to clear it and touch his nose to check for blood, a strong arm wraps around my waist and steers me to the edge of the dance floor.
I look up to see that Flint has one arm around my waist, another around Anne’s.
The dancers are parting like water to get out of his way.
Taking in his expression, I don’t blame them.
Then again, he’s also walking me calmly while he holds a twisting Annemarie inches off the floor with what appears to be no effort.
“That stupid, cock-sucking, misogynistic neanderthal!” is all I can really make out over the music, but it’s clear she wasn’t done with Brett yet.
Flint doesn’t slow or even indicate that he’s heard, but continues to guide us up the stairs and to the table, where we find Bits standing guard over our drinks like a dragon.
“Sit,” he growls at Annemarie, pointing a finger at her. As soon as her ass hits the seat, she is bouncing back up. Flint lets out what sounds like snarl. “You’ll stay where I put you.”
Annemarie finally stops muttering about overprotective males riding in with an unnecessary rescue long enough to really look at his face.
She nods, resumes her seat, and picks up her drink, taking a sip.
Wincing, she flexes her hand and I notice that she bruised her knuckles up some, hitting that idiot.
Flint takes her hand and examines her fingers. I swear I hear him mutter something about shielding before he releases her and turns to me. Taking my wrist, he tugs me over to the wall, where we won’t be overheard.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m fine. Handsy men are common when we go out dancing. I mean, Brett is definitely of the grosser than usual variety, but I’m fine.”
“That’s the guy from the shop, yeah?”
I think back to their first meeting and swallow, thickly, remembering Flint’s muttered threat.
“Yeah, but it’s fine. Really.”
Flint just shakes his head and takes a step back. “I’m going to get some air and grab Anne some ice for those knuckles. Do you need another drink?”
I glance at the table, where Betsy is giving Annemarie pointers on how to throw a punch without hurting herself. “Yeah. Yeah, another drink would be great. Thanks.”
Stepping into him, I rise up on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “And thanks for the rescue. I’ve heard of Brett and his buddies escalating things when they’re drunk and who knows what could have happened? Annemarie might’ve started a full on brawl.”
Flint seems to take in what I’ve said, then runs a hand down my hair before stepping back. “Go, sit with the girls and enjoy the music. I’ll be back in just a few.”
Then he turns, and walks away.