Under Locke(35)

“I’ll talk to Rick, have him apologize, babe. I don’t need you bein’ scared. He’s a lousy drunk.”



I gave him a slow one-shouldered shrug, looking away. His breathing was noisy as I thought about how nice he’d just been, standing in front of me when his friend started yelling, trying to get me to calm down. But I didn’t get it. Just days ago, he was losing his flipping mind. Last week he’d been trying to kick me out. I didn’t get it and it made me feel uncomfortable and confused.



“I’m okay now,” I whispered.



He didn’t move or say anything.



I shifted forward on the counter, wiggling my bottom so that it was teetering over the edge but Dex was too close, and I couldn’t hop off completely without pressing myself fully against him. “I want to get down now.”



Of course he didn’t move. “Sit a little longer.”



“I’m fine,” I insisted, fighting the urge to look up at his face.



One of his hands slid onto my knee. Even over the thick material of my brown pants, it was searing hot. Or at least it was like my blood flow had redirected itself to that one point under my skin. Damn you, traitorous body. “Iris, why won’t you look at me?”



Oh hell.



His voice took on that milky, smooth, deep tone that made me feel like a book of matches had been lit inside my gut, and the way he said my name… Ef. Me. I didn’t even think he knew my name. He hadn’t used it once the entire time I’d been working at Pins.



“I just want to get down,” I told him, glancing down at his hand.



Dex squeezed my thigh. “You can get down after you tell me why you still won’t look me in the face.”



I insisted. “Please.”



“No.”



“I want to get down.”



He squeezed me again. “No.”



“Let me down.”



“No.”



Oh shit. Annoyed as hell, I tilted my head up at him. “One minute you're kind of a fucking jerk—," did I just drop the f-bomb again? Why, yes, yes, I had. "Then the next minute you’re carrying me to my room and sharing your secret stash of bread with me. It doesn't make sense,” I said honestly. "I don't want to look at you because you hurt my feelings, okay? I don't know what to think."



And he just blinked. “That it?”



My head dropped back so I could look at the ceiling. Was this guy for real?



“Ritz, c’mon. That’s why you won’t look at me? 'Cause I talk outta my ass?” The questions were so casual it was like he was asking whether I wanted ranch dressing on my salad or Italian. So annoying.



“That's not enough?" I might have wailed my words a little.



This asshole started chuckling. “Don’t get so pissed.” The pads of his fingers brushed a line from my thigh down to my knee in an intimate, delicate gesture that was at odds with the man I’d met a week ago. “I told you it was a mistake. How many more times do you want me to say I’m sorry?”



I gave him a flat look which he returned to me with round, curious eyes. “I know. But you called me an idiot all because I asked you for help on my second day. Who does that?" The truth was, maybe I was an idiot. Because a smart person would have shut their mouth and accepted the forced apology, but there I was, my mouth still running. “The last time anyone called me a fucking-something was three years ago when I bought the last television on sale at Walmart on Black Friday for my little brother. But you know what? I didn’t care then.” The but I care now was implied in spades.



Dex’s thick lashes fluttered closed as he let out a whoosh of air from his lungs. He looked pained. Dex didn’t seem like the type of man who was used to apologizing to anyone. The expression seemed so rough and foreign coming from him, it was like trying to shove a square shaped object through a round hole. “Babe, I’m sorry.” Those pretty blue eyes opened, focusing on mine. “I just...say shit."



"You just say shit?" I repeated.



Oh boy.



I blinked in his features. His long, dark eyelashes, deep set eyes, magnificent square jaw, that nearly perfect nose—Dex The Dick was unbelievably handsome. And I was making him feel like shit for not forgiving him when it truly seemed like he was remorseful. In what might be the first time in his life with the way he expressed it.



"Yeah." It was a statement, a fact. "You're MC, you gotta have thicker skin than that to survive here, you hear me?"



God, grant me strength.



"My dad was a Widow. Sonny's a Widow. I'm not," I explained to him calmly. "I can't just grow a thick skin overnight."