“Did you just smile at the new waitress?”
Wyatt’s voice broke through Clay’s hazed thoughts, making him realize he’d actually watched her walk off and was craning his neck to see her talking and smiling at Jay. Feeling a bit like walking over there and punching poor Jay in the face, Clay decided to eat his pie and ignore Wyatt.
Problem was, Wyatt was hard to ignore. Especially when he was sitting across from him grinning like a fool and kicking his feet back against his seat, making a thump, thump, thump noise he knew would irritate the hell out of Clay.
He couldn’t help but lift his head and bark at Wyatt, “What?”
“Nothing,” Wyatt said with a laugh of disbelief. “Just seemed like you were mighty sweet and cozy with Hal’s new waitress.”
Clay scowled. “I ain’t sweet.”
“I heard you say both thank you and sorry in less than a minute. Not to mention those pearly whites you were flashing,” Wyatt argued, grin still wide and shrewd. “Forget praline, I think ya wanna bite of Miss Dylan’s pie.”
Clay turned around, eyeing the waitress as she walked away from Jay’s table, making sure she hadn’t heard Wyatt. His head whipped back around to glare at the powerfully built cop. Broad shoulders, massive arms, Wyatt was one of the biggest, toughest men in Garnet, and that was saying something. The only guy who’d probably get better betting odds in a fight just happened to be sitting across from him.
“How ’bout I take a bite outta you,” Clay shot back in a low and vicious voice.
“Nah, I don’t swing that way.” Wyatt took a long drink of his coffee, seeming undisturbed by the fury directed at him. “Thanks for asking, though.”
Sometimes having a friend nearly as big and tough as him was a major annoyance. Clay was used to people bowing to his anger. “You keep grinning like that and Frank’s gonna be taking you to Mercy General.”
“If I fight back, do I get a locker room bonus?” Wyatt asked as if considering it.
“Fuck off,” Clay growled, going back to his pie because intimidation wouldn’t work on Wyatt.
“Clay, listen.” Wyatt sighed, leaning forward to set his coffee cup on the table. His gaze became softer as he lowered his voice. “That sweet little waitress ain’t for you. Stick to the groupies. They love you.”
Clay cringed at the mention of groupies, biting his tongue against pointing out he had never liked those harsh, demanding women. Especially when he thought of the soft and kind Miss Dylan. He turned around, watching her talk to Judy, admiring the way the white apron hugged her hips.
“She doesn’t like fighters.”
Wyatt’s voice cut through his fantasies, and Clay turned back to him. “What?”
“She came into the station when she first got here last week. Wanted us to know she’d filed a restraining order against her ex-husband before she left Cleveland. He used to beat on her. She moved to Garnet because she figured it was about as Bumfuck and hidden as you can get,” Wyatt said in a concerned voice, casting sideway glances to the back of the diner where the waitresses were still talking. “Dumb-ass Harvey made the mistake of telling her I used to fight in the UFC. You know, so she’d see we had it handled, and she ain’t said more than a few words to me since.”
“Someone used to beat on her?” Clay growled. “And he’s still after her?”
“I dunno the details. She seemed to feel like he was a real danger, enough to move here of all places.” Wyatt took another sip of his coffee, his tall frame still hunched low over the booth as he spoke to Clay. “You get why it wouldn’t work out, dontcha? Why a UFC Hall of Fame heavyweight might not be her ideal man?”
Yeah, Clay got it, and he knew Wyatt was right. It wasn’t even a shock to his system. He was too rough around the edges, too mean, too big and intimidating. Nice girls didn’t fuck guys like him—groupies did.
He tried not to dwell on it. After all, he didn’t even know her first name, and it wasn’t like him to get sentimental. Instead he ate his pie while Wyatt quickly changed the subject. He ran his mouth about work, about Clay’s odds in the upcoming fight, talking about training and the Cuthouse Cellar Training Center Clay co-owned with Wyatt and his sister, Jules. Wyatt was a real chatterbox, just rattling on like he did when he felt it was his place to fill an uncomfortable void. Clay listened, grunting when he thought it was appropriate, all the while ignoring the feeling of loss that settled in his stomach.