Chapter 2

Maya's POV 

For half a second, I forgot all about being pissed. I could only focus on those eyes.

They were beautiful, icy blues—intimidating yet gorgeous. Get-you-killed-in-an-alley-but-in-a-peaceful-type-of-way blue.

And they were pissed.

“Are you done?” a voice said.

Low. Rough. Like gravel mixed with expensive whiskey. I heard a hint of an accent in it. He smelled like cedarwood, expensive cologne, and trouble.

I looked up. Really looked this time.

He looked like he was five times my age.

The first thing I noticed was his height. He was tall—really fucking tall—and built like a tank. My 5'4" ass didn't even come close to measuring up to him.

He wore a crisp black shirt with three buttons undone, teasing a glimpse of the tattoos on his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, inked forearms. His black dress pants and shiny black shoes completed his polished look.

Dark, wavy hair was thick and tousled, with a few strands falling across his forehead. Sharp features, a strong jaw, faint stubble, and a full neck tattoo gave him a rugged edge.

Holy sh*t.

Was this guy wearing glasses?

How the hell did I not notice that?

Instead of making him look less attractive, they somehow made him look even more striking.

Holy hotness.

He was the definition of rugged yet polished. He looked like an absolute temptation with his hands in his pockets, and he knew it.

He looked completely out of place here. I wondered what a guy like him was looking for in a place like this.

I think I've been bitch-slapped by this gorgeous man's entire existence.

Why is he looking at me weirdly?

Oh yeah. I've been eating him up with my eyes like a hungry little bitch for God knows how long.

Get a grip, Maya. This man literally threw you down like a bag of onions.

“Done staring?”

What?!

“I wasn't checking anyone out,” I lied through my teeth.

“Whatever makes you sleep at night, I guess.” He shrugged.

Okay, fuck this guy. Just because he was older, and a complete smoke show didn't mean he had the right to boss me around. I'm not some child he could dismiss.

“What the hell is your problem? You don't just carry some random girl and throw her to the ground.”

“You were about to break his fingers.”

I glanced behind him at Jonathan, who was still standing there, looking like he'd just witnessed World War III.

“So? He clearly deserved it.”

“That wasn't the question.”

“Then make a better one,” I retorted.

His jaw tightened.

For some reason, that tiny movement made me want to annoy him even more.

Bring it on, stronzo.

Translation: Asshole.

“You always poke your nose into other people's business?”

“Are you always this dumb?” he shot back.

Oh no, he did not just say that. He absolutely did not just call me dumb.

“Okay, you listen up, buster. You do not just come in here with that big, brooding attitude of yours, carry me like a fucking caveman, and expect me to treat you like it's all cookies and rainbows.”

“Again, I say, you were about to break his fingers. Or do you want me to give you that in writing?” he said, folding his arms like he was talking to a child. That pissed me the fuck off.

Something caught my eye—his inked hands. I hated how incredibly sexy they looked and how much they added to his appearance. God, no one was meant to be this attractive, and that made me even angrier.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You wish, little girl.”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Little girl,” he said, looking bored.

“Then you're what? Daddy?” I replied sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

He stared at me for a long moment. I saw a flicker of something I couldn't quite put my finger on, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. If I hadn't been paying attention, I would've missed it.

Without so much as a word, he walked past me and left, leaving me totally pissed.

Well, good riddance.

I finally paid attention to my surroundings and realized we'd gathered quite an audience.

“Okay, everyone, show's over. Back to what you all were doing,” I said, making my way over to where the newbie was seated. She was looking much better. On my way there, I “accidentally” stepped on Jonathan's foot. Hard.

Oops.

“Hey there,” I greeted.

“Hi,” she replied shyly.

“How are you feeling now?”

“I'm fine now, thank you,” she said, but it felt like she wanted to say something else. “Thank you for standing up for me,” she added, avoiding my eyes.

“Oh, that was nothing. But I do have something to ask.”

She nodded.

“What's your name, and how old are you?” I asked.

“I'm Sophie, and I'm sixteen years old.”

Un-fucking-believable.

I knew she was a minor, but sixteen. Fuck. That douchebag was groping a fucking sixteen-year-old. She was three years younger than me, but still a literal kid. Goddammit. Now I really hated that blue-eyed asshole for stopping me from breaking his fingers. I should have done more than step on his foot. But that didn't stop me from finishing what I started. After all, I'm not one to leave things halfway.

“Just give me a minute. I'll be right back. Okay?” I said, then left without waiting for her response and headed right back to my dear friend, Jonny Boy.

“W—what are you—FUCK!”

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Mission accomplished. I'd like to see him use those dirty things to touch another girl. At the end of the day, I got what I wanted. Guess patience really was the best virtue.

I walked back to Sophie. “All done.”

Then I went back to the counter.

Sophie looked like she might pass out at any moment. Jonathan was groaning on the floor, nursing his injured hand, while everyone else just looked at me like they'd just witnessed a live exorcism.

I rolled my eyes.

And Trina says I'm overdramatic. At least this place is quiet for once.

Maybe this day is actually going in my favor.

And then my mind wandered back to the incident with the blue-eyed asshole.

Fuck me. Talk about a mood changer.

I hope I never see that man again.

Ever.