Page 6 of Catcher's Lock

“Isn’t that your waitress draped all over one of your crew right now?” I ask.

“Which is why this seemed faster.” The red is creeping up his neck now, but he’s moved even closer to the kid. A hyena guarding his prey.

“I’m Josh, if you’re buying rounds,” the kid pipes up, recklessly reclaiming his attention.

“Of course you are.” I stifle a groan and slam the rest of my drink.

“I’m Josha.”

It’s time to move this shit show along, but my head throbs and my heart is trying to claw its way out of my chest. Maybe the coke in the bathroom was a bad idea.

That’s not the problem, and you know it, asshole, but nice try.

Alex is practically whispering in Josh’s pink-tipped ear now, and I need tomovebecause it doesn’t matter what this one’s name is—they’re all Joshas—and I’m the type of predator that will die if it stopsmoving, and I really need another drink, and now the kid issmilingat this dickhead, and—

I’m shoving between them before I even realize I’ve left my stool.

“I told you to leave him alone.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Alex is really pissed now, caveman brows lowered beneath the ball cap.

“How much time have you got?” I cock my head toward the bar. “Looks like your beers are here, and your friends are waiting.”

He glances at the booth behind him, and I know I’ve won. The first rule of the game is don’t let your friends find out. He’ll scurry back to them now with some story about the asshole at the bar that has nothing to do with getting his dick sucked, and if I’m lucky, they’ll find me later and we can have some real fun.

Alex-the-Idiot leaves with another round of beers for his cronies, and Josh-the-Kid very deliberately doesn’t watch him go.

“That was very…dramatic. And unnecessary,” he observes.

I turn and raise an eyebrow at him. “You telling me he wasn’t trying to sweet-talk you into the bathroom and you weren’t considering saying yes?”

“He wasn’t that bad.”

“He’s a closeted douchebag.”

“He said I have a pretty mouth.” He tilts his head and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. My gaze drops briefly before I catch myself.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Jesus Christ.

“Why don’t you drive up to Santa Cruz and find yourself a fancy college-boy cock?”

“That’s a long drive.” He shrugs, glancing over at Alex and his cronies. “And those are college jerseys.”

“A guy like that will hate himself after, but he’ll pretend it’s you he hates. You deserve better.”

“Is that an offer?”

“No.”

“Pity.” He scans the ink on my forearms. “‘Je suis désolé.’ What’s that about?”

“You speak French?” I ask, deflecting like the pro I am.

“They teach ‘I’m sorry’ in the first week. So, what are you? Aremorseful serial killer?” He flashes a smile to share the joke. “A misguided vigilante?”