“Dylan, what the…” Ian, my younger brother and the bartender in this shithole, starts to ask before we make eye contact, and his voice trails off before he finishes.
“Shut it,” I tell Ian before giving my full attention back to the asswad in front of me.
The man paws at my hand, trying to break my hold, but he gets nowhere. I only tighten my grip and maintain eye contact.
“Bitch isn’t worth it,” he mutters, finally smartening up.
I inch closer so I can smell the stench of old beer on his breath. “Wanna rephrase that?”
“I’ll go,” he whispers, the fear in his eyes clear as day.
“Now, apologize.”
His eyes widen. “No fuckin’ way.”
I raise my hand, and he cowers immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he tells Rosie, but there’s no sincerity in his voice.
I tilt my head, glaring at him. “Say it like you mean it.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he repeats in a softer tone.
I release my grip on his shirt and push him away from Rosie, finally letting him stagger until he bumps into a table and finds his footing.
“You’re gonna pay for this shit,” he seethes, wiping his upper lip where blood had started to collect. When he drops his eyes to his hand, seeing the blood, his anger only grows as his gaze hardens. “You have no idea what you started, boy.”
I let out a bitter, short laugh, not giving two fucks about the drunk asshole. I jerk forward as if I’m going after him again, and he flinches, causing my laughter to grow.
“You’ll wish you never touched me!” he yells, inching backward like the coward he is.
“Fuck off!” I yell back and step toward him. “I think you need to be beat unconscious.”
“Clusterfuck,” Ian mutters, and even though I’m not looking at him, I have zero doubts he scrubbed his hand down his face and cursed into his palm.
The man stares at me from a safe distance and lifts his hand, giving me the middle finger before running toward the exit like his ass is on fire and the fresh air will somehow put it out.
When I turn around, Rosie’s standing with her arms crossed, head cocked, and those beautiful, pouty lips flat. “Do you feel like a big man now?” she asks.
I blink, cocking my head just like her. “I’m the asshole in this somehow?”
She twists her lips. “Uh, yeah.”
I scrub my hand across my forehead, trying to understand her way of thinking, but come up with nothing. “Wanna explain to me how?”
She rolls her eyes and lets out a grunt. “You hit him.”
I nod. “Fuckin’ A. I should have beat his ass, too. He got off easy.”
“Dumbass,” Ian mutters, pretending to clean the counter, but he’s eavesdropping because he’s a nosy fucker.
She unfolds her arms and steps toward me, looking so small and fragile yet powerful at the same time. “I had things under control.” She extends her arm, finger pointed, and pokes me square in the middle of my chest. “But nooooo, you had to come in and ‘be the man’ and insert your fist and mouth where it wasn’t asked for or needed.”
“Ro…” I smile at her cuteness. So tough. So fierce. So…weak.
“No,” she snaps, poking me harder. “Not every woman is in need of a rescue.”
I glance down at her painted nails, unable to stop my smile from growing wider from her attempt at being scary. “And what were you going to do if he laid a finger on you? Would you have poked him to death with that black nail?”
Her eyes narrow, and her finger stays where it is. “Ever think I can throw a punch too, but I prefer to use my words like an adult?”
“Doll,” I whisper, smirking at the thought of her trying to punch that asshole.
“Dick,” she bites out.
I reach up, lifting her chin with my finger, and gaze into her blue eyes, which are filled with defiance and anger. “Doll,” I repeat. “Why you gotta be so hard? Your job is to be soft and sweet.”
She doesn’t tear her eyes away from mine as she says, “I’m not weak.”
“Never said you were, baby. There’s a time to be hard. A time to be sweet. And when I’m around, willing to pop a guy in the face for disrespecting you, I’ll be the hard one while you stay sweet. You feel me?”
Her teeth grind together, sending a vibration to my fingers. “I don’t need you to be the hard one.”
“Too late,” I tell her, letting my gaze drop to her full lips and thinking about all the wicked things they could do that don’t involve talking. My thumb moves across her skin, brushing the bottom edge of her mouth. It takes everything in me not to bend down and taste her. “Who hurt you, baby?” I whisper.
“Stop calling me that,” she says, but she’s done nothing to move away or break the contact between us.
She likes me. She can deny it all she wants, but a woman who claims to be as hard as her doesn’t stay in my grasp, holding my eyes, and paying close attention to every word I’m speaking unless they’re at least a bit interested.
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Ro,” she whispers, shivering as my finger caresses her skin again.
“Ro,” I repeat, loving “baby” more, but whatever makes her happy, I’ll call her…for now.
She blinks at the sound of her name and clears her throat, stepping backward and out of my grasp. “Thanks for the save, but next time, I don’t need it, Dylan. I’m a big girl.”
Here we go…back on the hamster wheel that’s Rosie Gallo’s brain of independence.
“You keep saying that.”
“I figure a man such as yourself needs to be told more than once before it actually sinks in.”
“It’s permeated, Ro, but doesn’t mean I’ll listen.”
“Impossible,” she mutters, turning her back to me to face the bar.
My eyes drift over her body, taking in the luscious curve of her ass and dip of her waist. The woman is perfect in every way. Not skinny and frail like many women, but soft and subtle…made to be touched.
“Another beer,” she tells Ian with a slight chin lift.
He glances at me, and I nod.
“What the fuck was that?” she asks, her eyes moving from him to me and back to him. “Did you just ask for his approval?”
Ian’s eyebrows rise for a moment, probably shocked someone challenged his ass about anything. He’s not typically the type people fuck with, even women. Ian tosses a towel over his shoulder and leans over the bar, getting close to Rosie’s face. “No, ma’am. Just lookin’ at my asshole brother, wondering how long he’s going to stick around or if he’s going to get the hint and walk away. He’s definitely not the best Walsh brother. He’s not even in the top three. He’s wasting his time with a primo piece of ass like you.”
“Ian,” I warn.
“Dylan.” He smirks, testing my patience.
“The last thing I need is either of you archaic assholes bothering me. There isn’t a Walsh brother on the planet that I’d give a piece of ass to, and that includes you—” she points at me, glaring at me over her shoulder, and then she turns back to Ian “—and you.”