He grabs the bar to steady himself, grinning wildly. “Brooke! Funny . . . funny seeing you again, isn’t it? God, I really didn’t think that was you.”

He didn’t think that was me? I just saw him a few days ago. How drunk is this guy?

“Uh, yeah, it’s me. Small world.” I push against Mason’s chest. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Paul keeps going.

“I thought . . . nah, that’s not Brooke. No way! She should be hanging on a street corner.”

I whip my head around. “Excuse me.”

“A street corner.” Paul leans closer, tilting his head with a sneer. “You know. Like a whore.”

My body goes rigid. Mason tenses behind me.

Paul, you stupid fucking idiot. You asked for this.

MASON

“You know. Like a whore.”

Brooke inhales a quick breath. Her eyes go round, taking up the majority of her face.

The fuck did he just say?

I move to get closer to this piece of shit, putting myself in front of Brooke. “Hey, fuck off, mate.”

His head jerks up, his eyes rapidly blinking me into focus. He’s barely keeping himself upright. One hand is flat on the bar, the other is clutching the stool Brooke was just occupying.

He’s so tanked he’ll probably end up falling over soon.

“No.” Brooke darts a hand out and grabs my arm, halting me. “No, let me.” She steps in front of the bastard. “I’m sorry, Paul. What exactly makes me a whore? Was it the fact that I had sex with you the other night, which I’m now suddenly regretting, or was it that you got your pathetic little feelings hurt when I didn’t want to cuddle after?” Her hand flies to her hip. “Are you sad because I didn’t want to go for round two? Is that it? Is that why you look like shit right now, Paul?”

Jesus. Brooke and this tosser? This is not some shit I want to hear about.

Paul drops his head, shaking with silent laughter. “You fucked like a whore. What chick bails right after gettin’ laid like that?”

“What guy turns into a preteen and cries about it? You’re lucky I even went home with you. I had plenty of other options that night.”

“Yeah . . . I bet you did.” He slouches closer, his eyes gleaming. “Whore.”

I move without any thought behind it, getting up in his face, jamming his body against the bar.

“Speak to her like that again and I’ll put you through a fucking window, yeah?”

A small hand wraps around my elbow. “Mason.” Brooke tugs my arm, but I keep the bastard pinned.

Just knowing he’s been with Brooke is enough to provoke me. Hearing him speak to her like that . . . I’m not a violent guy, but I’m suddenly feeling like I could be. I could beat the piss out of this wanker and not feel any remorse. Not a shred.

His head rolls left, then right, his eyes slowly drifting closed. “Mm. Hit me. Go ahead. I-I don’t give a s-shit.”

He’s slurring his words now. He can barely stand.

I don’t need to hit him.

I swiftly back away. He isn’t expecting that. Eyes wide, his feet slide out from under him and he collapses into a drunken heap on the floor, limbs sprawled like a rag doll, head slumped back against the bar. His eyes pinch shut through a groan, then he slowly topples over until he’s laid out between the stools.

A big bloke moves through the crowd and steps in front of me, crouching down to grab Paul.

“Let’s go, buddy. You’ve been cut off.”

I turn to Brooke, then notice the eyes on us, the crowd that’s gathered behind her who I’m certain heard every bit of that conversation, including the cruel words that fucker had to say. Brooke notices them too, her eyes darting quickly around the room, then dropping to a spot between us.

Her shoulders pull forward, and she lowers her head, hiding behind her hair. She suddenly appears smaller.

She’s embarrassed. Maybe a bit hurt. It’s hard to tell when I can’t see her face.

“Hey.” I lift her chin with my hand. “You all right?”

She hesitates for a second, just staring up at me through those impossibly thick lashes as she slowly exhales. Her hand gently presses against my hip. I slide a bit closer, moving my fingers along her jaw and just fucking stare at her.

Christ, she is quite possibly the most stunning woman I have ever laid eyes on.

Her hair is falling out around her in dark curls, covering her delicate neck. She’s wearing more makeup than I’ve seen her in up until this point, but fuck, she doesn’t need it. The way she looked in my class the other day, her skin glowing from exertion, clean and sweaty, that Brooke has me.

Finally after taking in a deep breath, she nods slightly, just a jerk of her chin. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine, but can we go? I’d really like that ride now.”

I grab her hand and we melt into the crowd.

Tipping my head in the direction of the table Brooke’s friends are at, I let them know we’re getting out of here while she stays close to my side. It’s a brief farewell. Brooke tugging on my hand has me getting her out of there before any of them have a chance to ask us what happened. She clearly doesn’t want to linger. I’m not interested in making her stay. Besides, I’d rather have her alone.

We’re out the door, her small hand in mine as we walk along the footpath. The sky is free of clouds, a clear blue scene speckled with stars and a bold moon hanging low.

Brooke pulls her hand back after a few seconds and wraps her arms around herself.