Chapter 13
thirteen
“MR. brIGHTSIDE” — THE KILLERS
Miller
I’m not a violent guy.
Now, obviously, I’m a former SEAL. I am capable of violence. In the right moment, with the right stakes, I can do what needs to be done.
But you know what you learn when you’re a SEAL? You learn all the ways to get a job done without resorting to violence. You learn how important it is to tamp down your instinctive reaction. You learn restraint. You learn how to wait.
Well, that’s what I learned.
Despite that, when I return from getting Tavey’s drink to find fucking Devon in my chair, it takes every goddamn ounce of restraint I have and then some.
He’s leaning into her space like they’ve been sharing secrets. And he looks fucking smug about it.
Which is… okay.
It is.
Because she’s here with me. She came with me, and she’s going to be leaving with me. She dressed up for me.
That’s what matters.
When I step up behind her, I don’t rest my hand on her shoulder. I place it on the back of her chair. Because I don’t want him to think I have to claim her. She’s mine for the evening — unless and until she tells me otherwise. I’m not worried about fucking Devon and whatever game he’s playing.
So I rest my hand on the back of her chair, knowing in my gut that she’ll do what she’s been doing all evening. She’ll lean into my touch. She’ll meet me halfway, and that action on her part will do all the work for me.
In my head it goes like this: my hand on her chair, she looks up and smiles, she rests her hand on top of mine.
Easy peasy. Job done. No need for macho posturing on my end.
That’s how my gut tells me it’s going to go.
I wrap my hand around the back of her chair, my knuckles brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder. I feel the same jolt of awareness I feel every time I touch her. Every time she’s near.
Except she doesn’t lean into my touch and she sure as fuck isn’t smiling.
She almost shrinks away, her shoulders hunching over a bit. Like she’s making herself small.
That tiny action is a punch in the gut.
I’ve seen her do this before at work, and it always kills me.
Usually, it’s in meetings when some middle-aged dude who’s intimidated by her intelligence cuts down her ideas.
I hate it when it happens then. When I can’t even step up and stand up for her because I don’t want her to think she needs me to defend her.
Even though I would. I would fight the world for this woman. I would burn down worlds for her.
But as bad as it is to see at work, it’s worse here. On this evening, when she’s been shining so bright all night. When she looks spectacular and is as radiant as a supernova. On tonight of all nights, she shouldn’t be making herself small.
I have no idea what happened while I was gone, no idea what Devon said or did, but I blame him.
Actually, I blame him almost as much as I blame myself.
I was gone too long.
For a moment, I want to lose my shit. I want to splinter the wood beneath my hand and probably Devon’s nose.
The dumbass I was at nineteen would have done just that. But that’s not the man I am now, not the man I want Tavey to see. And probably not the move that would win her heart, anyway.
If I make a scene, I risk losing her. She looks frail enough to shatter, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be the one to break her.
The only thing I want to do is protect her.
Okay, in all fairness, I also want to fuck her brains out. But that’s clearly not going to happen when she looks like she’s about to cry.
I narrow my gaze at Devon, who has the good sense to hop up and scurry away. Presumably back to whatever hole spiders hide in while they’re spinning webs.
Since Tavey looks so fragile, I pick up my chair and move it a couple of inches away before lowering myself into it. I give her space as I survey the table. The second empty glass. The cloth napkin twisted around her fingers. The extra twist where her hair has been repinned.
I worked hard to make tonight perfect for her. My gut told me tonight was the perfect time to make my move.
My heart has known for months now that Tavey is mine. My dick has known it even longer. Since, the first moment I saw her.
Damn, I’ve been patient. I can keep being patient.
My gut might have told me this was it.
But apparently my gut is a fucking liar.