The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(50)

I. See. Red.

My ears buzz, the background of the little bistro I’m sure I won’t be welcome in again blurs as I use the hand in his lapel to push him from me as I pull my arm back and hit him, square on the side of his face.

His head instantly moves to the left with my hit, flying with the force. My arm goes back, striking him again as my mind goes blank.

Playing hard to get.

The look of concern.

The pain.

Cassie holding her wrist.

With another hit, he’s pushing on me, clawing at the arm holding him, trying to get free. It’s no use; the tunnel vision has me singularly focused on making this man pay. He touched her. He hurt her.

But a single voice breaks through the chaos of my mind.

A single voice saying, “Stop!”

The world comes flying back.

Customers shouting, the man in front of me pushing to get free, the throbbing in my fist, it’s all there.

But my eyes are locked to Cassie, her own wide, staring at me with a mix of fear and anger and a hint of pain, begging me to stop.

And her hand is holding her wrist.

I drop the man, who stumbles back a few steps before getting to his feet and moving away from me.

“Get your shit and leave.” For a moment, I think he’ll argue. Try to call the cops, to press charges, to fight back. But I called it—he’s weak and a coward, grabbing his coat and saying something to Cassie about this being a waste of time, but he’s off my radar as soon as he scurries off with his tail between his legs.

“Let me see.” I put my hand out, needing to see her wrist, to see the damage.

“What the hell was that, Luke?!” Anger is clear in her voice. If I wasn’t so worried about her, dying to ensure she’s okay, I might laugh. But I need to check this box in my mind first, make sure that fucker didn’t do any lasting damage.

“Give me your fucking wrist, Cassandra.” Her mouth thins with frustration at my words. But whether she takes my order for what it is—a damn order—or just doesn’t want to argue in a restaurant where we’ve already made a scene, I don’t care because she’s wincing as she hands it over to me. The skin around her wrist is pink and angry, and I know it’s going to bruise. “Shit, Cass. We should go find him, press charges. This is fucked up.”

“No. No way.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“For so many reasons. One, this is my business and he was just assaulted during an interview.”

“After he assaulted you first.” She rolls her eyes.

“Second, if we file charges, he’ll file them against you. And there’s more evidence to what you did than this being from him.” Her eyes gesture to my hand with skinned knuckles, blood welling at one deeper split. “You should get that checked out.” Her voice goes softer, the anger still there but subdued with worry. Something warms me, knowing she’s concerned about me more than she cares about her own injury.

“I don’t care if he presses charges. No one would hold it against me. There’s a restaurant full of witnesses.” I gesture around to the full bistro, half the eyes following our every move, the other half pretending not to be watching.

“Are you okay, Luke?” the waitress asks when she comes over, a towel with ice in her hand. I take it from her, pressing it to Cass’ wrist regardless of the fact Gina intended to be my nursemaid and give the ice to me. I don’t have the energy to deal with her.

“Fine. Check, Gina. My tab and Cassie’s and the asshole date’s.” The tone in my voice must communicate my frustration because she nods before scurrying off.

“Luke, no—”

“Not the time.”

“What?”

“Not the time to fuck with me. Not the time to test me. I am still so on-fuckin’-edge right now, Cass. I want to go crazy, chase the fucker down, and beat his ass. The shit going through my mind? It would not take much to push me to do it. But I gotta take her care of my woman right now. Please, don’t make this any more difficult by fighting with me about dumb as fuck shit.” I expect her to argue. I expect it to be like nearly every other interaction I have with this beautiful, frustrating woman and for her to argue on principle alone.

But instead, she looks at me, reads me, decodes what I’m showing her, and nods.

“Okay, Luke.”





Our meals are packed, the bill paid, and I’m walking Cass the few blocks to my apartment, both of us still stewing on what just happened.

“This is my job, Luke,” she says softly, breaking the silence. I look down at her as we continue walking.

“What?”

“This is my job. I go on dates. I meet men. Good, bad, everything in between. It’s just another reason I don’t date.” Her eyes are stuck straight ahead.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. I’m saying… I’m saying I can’t change everything because we have some kind of… arrangement.” The word digs into me, grating against nerves. Arrangement. She and I both know this is more than some convenient arrangement. More than three dates, more than three weeks. I just need her to accept it, to understand I’m not going anywhere. I’m not the same scum she’s afraid of falling for. But I also know right now is not the time to push this. To push her.