Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(2)

Ransom was a boy, still in high school, but he still towered over my father. “He is not my man,” I told papa, wishing the earth would open up so I could jump inside it. From the moment I had met him that morning, I hadn’t been able to stop marveling at beautiful, massive Ransom. No, he wasn’t mine, but I kind of wished he was. Still, my papa didn’t need to know that. Oh, he wanted me to have a man—but one that he chose, one that was thirty-five years old and mean as the devil. That was the reason I left his home—the main one, at least. “Besides, it’s none of your business.”

“I will call the law,” Papa said, moving forward as though his words weren’t enough of a threat.

“Call them, I don’t care,” I flung back at him, and surged forward to match his threat, forcing Ransom to step between us. “They’re not going to make me go back with you. Besides, I’ll tell them where your weed is and then what will you do?”

Papa released a colorful list of foul words in Creole and tried moving around Ransom to get at me, but Ransom held him back with that massive palm pressed against my father’s chest. “You need to leave,” he told Papa. His smile had vanished. “Right now.”

“She’s my daughter,” my father spat out.

Ransom glanced at me over his shoulder. “You want him gone?” I nodded and he focused back on Papa. “She wants you gone. This is private property. You need to leave.”

The low Creole cursing continued and my father only backed away when Ransom stood fully in front of me. For a second everything froze, and despite the tension in the air I caught the rich, soothing hint of Ransom’s cologne and the spicy, delicious smell of his skin. It made me thirsty. It made me hungry.

Then, Ransom stumbled into me as Papa pushed him, but he recovered faster than I ever would have thought, grabbing my father’s arm, twisting the older man around to pin his wrist against his back and his chest cemented to the driver’s door of that old Chevy. I was amazed with how swiftly Ransom had moved—and how his protectiveness made a warmth work inside my chest. It was ridiculous to want someone you just met, but I could not deny what I was feeling.

Papa jerked away from Ransom’s hold, but they had no effect as Ransom just stood there without moving, waiting until the older man finally calmed down. Then he jerked Papa back, opened the truck door and shoved my father inside the cab. As one hand braced on the roof, he leaned in towards my glowering father and snarled, “Leave. Now. And don’t think of coming back. If I have to, I’ll give the cops a head’s up, give them your plate number, tell them you’re trolling around a place where little girls take dance class.”

Papa ignored Ransom and slammed the door shut, but I knew he wanted the last word. He always did. He looked past Ransom and fixed his furious eyes on me. “You’re a stupid little whore, tifi and will starve unless you spread your legs.”

Ransom grabbed his collar, pulling him nearly out of the open window. “That’s enough, *. I don’t care if you are her father. You don’t get to talk to her like that. Ever.”

We both stepped back as Papa spun out of the parking lot and I didn’t pull my hands away from my mouth until I saw his taillights disappear two stop signs away.

“Hey,” Ransom said, touching my shoulder. “You alright?”

“I…yeah. I, thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I don’t like bullies,” he said, glancing down the road. “I especially don’t like bullies who try to shove their weight around defenseless women.” When I cocked my eyebrow at him, he laughed. Back again was that warm smile, the genuine one, and the return of the sweet boy I’d met that morning. “Not that you probably couldn’t have held your own. I told you earlier, you’ve got that bad ass vibe. I meant that.”

“Well, that was kind of bad ass too, you muscling around a man whose about forty years older than you.”

Ransom shrugged, disregarding my compliment and then his face became serious. “You sure you’re gonna be okay here on your own?” He nodded toward the staircase behind me then moved his gaze around the empty parking lot. There were no other offices on this lot, just the dance studio and my loft above it but all around us were high-end buildings with new paint and stucco and perfectly manicured landscaping. It was a safe area; still, Ransom didn’t seem able to keep the worry out of his tone.

“I’ll manage,” I told him, wanting to disappear for a little while, to recover from the embarrassment my father’s outburst had caused. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Well,” he said, walking me back to the staircase, “I kind of have a soft spot for bad ass women wanting to make it on their own.” His shrug, that lazy smile, were both relaxed, and I wondered how he could manage to pull off that ‘it’s nothing’ movement and still look so intimidating.

“Mama’s boy?” I teased, knowing that the famous songwriter Keira Riley, Ransom’s mother, was, in fact, a bad ass.

“Yeah. Maybe a little.” Again he shrugged and stepped closer like he didn’t realize he’d moved at all. “I just think it’s cool when a woman knows what she wants.” He looked down at me for a few seconds longer, then blinked as though he’d come back to his senses. “My mom and my uh, girlfriend, they’re both bad asses.”