“Hey, McKenzie!” A college-aged guy with a mouth like a fish waves to me from a nearby table. “Come over here, I want to ask you something.”
“Do you know that scrub?” Teagan asks me.
“I’m one-hundred percent certain I’ve never seen him before in my life.” I smooth the hairs on my nape, acutely aware that my line of sight to Austin is obscured from this side of the bar.
“Oh, come on,” Fish-mouth yells. “Don’t be a bitch.”
Teagan scowls. “What the fuck? Yeah, you are not going over there.”
“Don’t have to tell me.”
As we make our way back to the table, part of me wants to run straight to the bar and latch myself to Austin’s side. But I don’t want to bother him unless it’s absolutely necessary.
“Is everything okay?” Hollywood asks, her gaze ping-ponging between our faces.
“Some asshole was giving Kenzie a hard time,” Teagan says.
I reclaim my seat and take a long pull of lemonade, trying not to notice the many pairs of eyes turned in my direction.
“Um...” April says. “Is it just me, or are there way too many people staring at us?”
Hollywood’s hand finds mine under the table, our signal for when her social anxiety is rearing its head.
“Oh God,” Teagan says. “Don’t look now. He’s coming over.”
I tense. “What, who?”
Fish-mouth sidles up to our table.
“Why’d you run off like that?” he asks, standing way too close for my liking. “I was trying to talk to you.”
“Because she doesn’twantto talk to you,” Teagan snaps.
“Yeah,” April says. “So go back to your own table.”
Fish-mouth frowns but otherwise ignores them. I hold my breath as my pulse and my heartbeat race toward a moving finish line.
“Look,” he says, “I was just wondering how many tokens it would take to get you to show me your tits—”
Fish-mouth grabs at his throat as he’s yanked backward. I recoil at the sudden movement. He falls on his ass, coughing and sputtering.
“You want to finish that sentence?” Austin growls, his expression nothing short of murderous. People at nearby tables turn to see what the commotion is.
Hollywood squeezes my hand.
“What the fu-uck?” Fish-mouth pushes to his feet, wheezing. “I was just messing around.”
Austin takes a step toward him. “I’m about to mess around with your fucking face if you don’t back the hell off—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Cal lays a hand on Austin’s shoulder. “I’m sure this young man is ready to head on home.” He whispers to Austin, “This shithead’s not worth the conjugal visits, man.”
“He attacked me,” Fish-mouth barks. “Why should I have to leave?”
April’s husband, Jonathan—all six-feet-eight-inches of him—approaches Fish-mouth from behind. The younger man looks to see who’s breathing down his neck. His eyes widen.
“Because it’ll be a lot more embarrassing for you if I have to drag your ass out of here,” Jonathan says.
Fish-mouth scowls at me before turning tail and darting out of the bar.