Finally, I try to stop thinking and focus on the sandwich again. I steal a glance at Liam without lifting my head and drawing his attention.
He’s moving the top bun and looking at the stack of meat beneath like it’s disappointed him. I hope he never looks at me like that.
I’m getting ahead of myself again. Way ahead of myself.
Dropping the bun back on top of his sandwich, Liam reaches beneath the table and draws two beer bottles out of the many pockets of his pants.
I laugh as he uncaps one and hands it to me, and he cracks a smile.
“Thank you,” I say, while glancing uncertainly behind the counter at Marco. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t allowed though.”
“Then he can say something to me about it.”
One look at his size, stoicism, and general ooze of intimidation gets his point across—he’s not going to.
I’ve been in the company of dangerous men my entire life, so I don’t know why he feels so much more impressive. Using that strength and intimidation to protect me probably helps. Normally they’re not doing that.
I don’t know why he protected me, but it gives me the boost of confidence I need to ask. I take a sip of the beer he just handed me first, then I dive right in. “So, why were you outside my house last night?”
He rotates his beer on the tabletop, studying it. “I told you, Raj had me follow you.”
“Was someone else following me while you were at work?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the point? I could’ve engaged in all sorts of deviance while you were guarding the junkyard.”
“You weren’t,” he says, apparently unconcerned.
He didn’t answer my question, at least not honestly, so I lift my eyebrows expectantly.
“What?” he asks.
“If you want me to answer your questions, you should probably answer mine.”
“What makes you think I care if you answer my questions?” he shoots back.
I flush, but hold my ground. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
He sits back in his seat and sighs. “I only had to follow you that first night.”
“But you kept doing it?”
He shrugs, half sheepish, half, “Well, yeah.”
“Why?” I ask.
At first he doesn’t answer, then he fingers the discarded cap of his beer bottle, watching it instead of me. “It didn’t seem like you were safe.”
My insides melt. “Well… I’m glad you did.”
He nods, seeming uncomfortable.
I nod as well, looking at my sandwich. I’m hungry, but I feel weird eating if he’s not going to. “I know he’s not much, but Paul does have dirty friends, associates, people who… would do stuff for him. I immensely appreciate what you did, but—”
He holds up a large hand to stop me. “If any variation of you telling me to watch out for the retaliation of that little weasel is about to come out of your mouth, don’t.”
“I’m sure you can look out for yourself,” I say, trying to take the sting out of the hit I must’ve dealt his ego. “It’s just, I would feel really terrible if you got hurt for defending me. It’s not like it would be a fair fight. Obviously Paul can’t hurt you, but….”