I check out, but still no sign of him, so I figure I’ll get a head start and haul my bags out to the truck before he can come and offer to carry everything for me again, Country Man With Manners style.
I get my bags situated in the truck bed which he’s left unlocked—I’m going to have to get used to that again, I think for a second before I remember that no, I don’t have to get used to it at all, since I’ll be leaving for the big city again in just a few more days. As I’m about to climb into the truck, a shout stalls me.
“Sasha?” a guy hollers.
There’s a whistle as I stop and turn around slowly.
“It is,” the guy says again. I don’t recognize him. “Sasha Bluebell in the flesh.” He’s across the street, but when I make eye contact, he steps off the curb and starts strolling toward me. “Damn. You’ve filled out.” His gaze drops across my body. Unlike when Grant does that, this feels sleazy. Irritating as hell, especially when he licks his lips after.
I don’t remember him, but that’s clearly becoming a running theme. “Excuse me. You are?” I ask, planting my hands on my hips.
Unlike most people who seem annoyed or irritated when I don’t recognize them, this guy’s smirk only deepens. “Aaron Smith. You don’t remember me? We went to junior high together. Though…” He shakes his head with another grin—and another long, lingering look at my body, which makes me cross my arms across my stomach and glare. He’s still walking closer. Just a foot away now. “You definitely looked a lot different back then. Fair enough. Bet I did too.”
You probably weren’t a scrawny creeper with greasy hair and a lecher’s grin, I think. Then again, what do I know. “Aaron. Nice to see you. Afraid I was just leaving.” I grab the handle of the passenger side door.
He grabs my hand, pins it against the handle. “Aw. You leaving so fast? You only just got back into town from what I hear.”
“Yeah, well, never was my favorite place,” I manage to growl between clenched teeth. “This is reminding me why.”
His eyes darken. “What’s the matter, Sasha? Too good for us country boys now?” He leans in, and I catch a whiff of something horrible on his breath. Rotten egg scent. “Or do you just need a good roll in the hay as a reminder of how good we can be?” he asks with a wink.
My stomach churns. I wrench my hand free of his and open my mouth to let him have it.
But before I can, a deeper, angrier voice interrupts. “Leave her alone.”
Grant.
Aaron’s gaze darts over my head, and he drops his hand. Though he doesn’t back off. “What’s the matter, bored of the local fare, Werther? Got a taste for fancier gals now?”
“None of your fucking business, Smith,” he replies. Unlike Aaron, his tone isn’t antagonistic or angry. Grant doesn’t need to threaten anyone to be intimidating, I realize. He just… is.
“No need to snap. I wasn’t criticizing your taste.” Aaron winks again. “Big city girl is a looker, if not a keeper.”
“You know what’s also none of your fucking business, Smith?” Grant asks. I turn to find him smiling serenely. Utterly unconcerned. Only his eyes give him away. There’s a red-hot fire burning in them. It’s the kind of glare no sane person would fuck with. “Ms. Bluebell. Who, by the way, is a person, and not the inanimate object you’re making her sound like right now.” His lip turns up, his nose lifting in a faint sneer of disdain. “Though with guys like you chasing her around this town, I’d hardly say anyone can blame her for high-tailing it out of here first chance she got.”
My eyes widen, even as my heart beats faster. Fuck. No guy has ever defended me like that before.
Aaron, for his part, is scowling now. But even he seems to know better than to fuck with Grant. He’s about a third of Grant’s size and doesn’t look like he’s got any muscle to speak of either. “Fuck you too, Werther,” he mutters as he turns away.
“Great to see you as always,” Grant calls at his back, rolling his eyes and storming past me to toss his groceries in the truck. “Little fucker’s begging to get his ass wiped across this street if you ask me,” he mutters as he swings back around to open my door for me. He locks eyes with me for a second, something apologetic there. “Do me one favor. Don’t judge us all by that rotten shit-shaped apple.”
“I don’t,” I answer without thinking. I can’t tear my eyes from his. Can’t stop my heart racing either, at the thought of the way he just defended me without even so much as lifting a finger. Though I know he would—I know he’d have kicked Aaron’s ass if he had to in my defense.