“Gah,” Stacy groans, slamming the bar that pushes the door open, and racing out ahead of me, hoping to cut me off and make a getaway with her boyfriend before I can get there.
I shove the door open before it can close on me, and my longer strides mean I catch Stacy gently by the arm before she can clip-clop all the way across the parking lot and escape.
“Matt, this is not cool!” she whines, her legs scissor-walking to keep up with me.
I check my speed a little, but I don’t spare her a glance. I’m full-out death-warning her boy, who squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head back against his head rest while I stalk-march us to his car.
See, sometime last year, I had the misfortune of overhearing Tansy having girl talk with Stacy at her desk when business was slow. And Stacy dropped that she wasn’t having sex with her boyfriend until she turned eighteen.
Back then, I’d thought, Thank fuck.
Now? SONOFABITCH.
I halt at his passenger door.
Manning up, his chest bows out with his bracing inhale, and the skinny teen—probably also eighteen, now that I think about it, dammit—pops his door and unfolds himself to stand in front of us.
Nervously, he extends his hand.
Rather than accepting it for a shake, I, with great ceremony, place Stacy’s wrist in his palm.
Tentative, confused, he gently closes his grip. His gaze swings from me to Stace. “Uh… thanks?”
“You two have a safe time,” I warn him, my eyes piercing him to his soul, if I’m any good at this.
(I’ve been practicing since the day my sisters started dating. I’m damn good at this.)
“Yes, sir,” the boy says quickly, his Adam’s apple jumping up like that strong-man game at the fair, where you take a big fucking hammer and pound on the bell to show your strength.
“Enjoy a sane, consensual, legal celebration,” I continue.
Stacy moans, mortified—her hand caught fast in mine, her wrist still gripped by her boyfriend.
“We… will,” her boyfriend replies, his eyes managing to meet mine, which I have to admire, because he looks terrified.
Good.
“Night,” I bite out.
“I quit,” Stacy hisses as I release her trapped hand.
Her boyfriend lowers his hand, opening his fingers to release her wrist slowly, looking like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do that or not, his eyes going from mine to Stacy’s furious face.
“See you Monday,” I return.
“Ugggh,” she grumbles, stomping past me to round the hood of the car. A lot of the effect is lost because shoes like she’s wearing just get cuter when she’s stomping.
This does not make me happier.
Still, I think the boyfriend got the point. I think if he can still get an erection after this, that he’ll treat her right, and if she says no to anything, he probably won’t push her or intentionally hurt her.
If he does, I’m going to prison on Monday.
After this, I’m only hiring the male gender. Which, I realize may conflict a little with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission’s rules, but I don’t worry about guys the same. Why have I hired women at all? I don’t need this stress. I should send Stacy’s mom a gift card to the liquor store. Maybe the boyfriend’s parents too. Can you imagine raising a creature that you just know is going to defile someone’s pretty daughter someday? Those poor people. I don’t know who they are, and I bet Stacy is never fucking going to tell me.
Huh.
“Hey,” I say to her boyfriend before he can shut his door.
“Oh no,” Stacy groans, face dropping into her hands as she slumps in the passenger seat.
“I’m a self-appointed abstinence keeper. My job is done if you don’t score, and I think we’re almost there. Names and numbers of your parents,” I tell the kid. I reach for my cell phone, slamming the button to activate the keyed screen.
“Sss-Samuel and K—”
“Are your parents still married?” I ask, surprised. Pleased, actually. Statistics show that children raised in a two-parent home are better adjusted. Less inclined to acts of violence against women, for starters.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, sounding unsure.
“Hmm. Last name. I’ll take numbers in a minute.” I’m still stomping out the little pin number that’ll unlock my phone’s sleep screen so I can take information when Stacy leans over her boyfriend, plants her hands on the open window, and growls, “Matt, NO. Goodnight.”
Eyes narrowed, I swipe the flashlight setting on and shine it into her boyfriend’s eyes as I look into her seriously ticked-off face. “See you Monday, then?”
Her lips tighten even more. “Yes!”
Her boyfriend echoes, “Yes, sir!”
I shrug, like that’s all I wanted. I drop the spotlight from her boyfriend. “Good. And Stace? Happy birthday.”
I let the boy roll up his window, taking no small amount of enjoyment at the way he’s staring back at me, wide-eyed.
And I snap a pic of his license plate. I’ve got a cousin at the precinct. Never hurts to check things out.
CHAPTER 20
I don’t expect to find Inara waiting for me at the door when I get back.
“Matthew,” she breathes, her voice sounding completely fucking horrified, “you are terrible.”
I give her the confused look her pronouncement deserves. “Excuse me?”
“You just humiliated that young woman—and the male she has chosen for herself.”
“No,” I explain, forehead tipping down as I make my point. “I just made that girl safe with the boy she’s chosen for herself.”
Inara shakes her head, lips slightly parted, eyes almost stricken. “What is wrong with you overbearing, overprotective men? You all go overboard!”
I give her a stern look. “He’s eighteen. His girl just turned legal. He’s horny. He needed that.” Plus, I like looking into the eyes of someone who’s utterly terrified of me. Who looks at me like he absolutely, one hundred percent believes I could tear him limb from limb. I’m not ashamed to admit that.
“You don’t know him. You can’t possibly know that!”
“Inara, he’s got a dick. I do fucking know that.”
Inara makes an outraged noise.
I cross my arms. “There are times when men need to be reminded to watch themselves. And during that boy-to-man transition, it’s important to change the relationship he has with his dumb-handle.”
Inara’s eyes flash. “And what would that relationship be?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Right now, he thinks with it. After he gets a visit or two from his love-interest’s closest Male of Concern, he stops thinking with his dumb-handle and starts being afraid for it. This is a crucial shift in every man’s life.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“No, sweetheart, it’s not. You have a dad and brothers. They’re your checks and balances, and I just did that for Stacy. Do you understand?”
“I understand that is medieval!” she fires back hotly. “What you’ve just done to that poor female? They’ve all done that to me, and I can tell you from experience, Matt, it’s humiliating!”