Page 38 of The Fix
“Don’t.” Anna tries to tug me away from the douche with an inflated ego, but her efforts are futile because I’m yet another step closer.
“Oh, I guess your woman’s got you in check.” The guy actually laughs like this shit is funny to him. “Got that mixed up.”
Boiling hot rage heats my blood when I push her behind me and step right up to the guy. “Leave her outta this.”
He scoffs right in my face. “Then teach your bitch to watch where the fuck she’s going.”
My fist connects with his jaw before I even realize I've thrown the punch. Grabbing a flustered Anna and our cart, I head for the back employee-only exit. I leave three hundred-dollar bills under a box by the desk—more than enough to cover our groceries—as we make our escape.
“Jeffers, what are you doing? They have to scan the stuff.”
My hand lands on her lower back to keep her moving. “I paid for it and then some. Don’t worry about it.”
“Wait, hold on,” Anna hisses, her feet slowing despite my pushing. “We can’t just—”
“Stop,” I growl and spin her to face me. “It’s this or finishing the fight with that guy.” Narrowing her eyes, she sinks her teeth into her lip like a goddamned tease. “Let’s go.”
Snagging the cart with one hand and Anna’s wrist in the other, I blend right into the horde of people that leave the store until our car comes into view.
It’s a pain in the ass to toss individual packages into the trunk with a co-pilot that supplies more eye rolls than hands and enough grumbling to last the century.
“Seriously, just let me go back in and talk to them.” Anna gestures to the storefront.
Throwing a glance over my shoulder through a haze of snowflakes, I catch sight of the guy that insulted Anna wandering around the store with a scowl that suggests he hasn’t gotten over it. I can’t explain what came over me in the first place, and I’m definitely not interested in finding it out a second time.
“No. Now, let’s go before I finish the fight I started.”
Huffing, Anna spins away and heads to the front of the car while I slam the trunk closed.
Chapter Nineteen
Anna
Tobias Jeffers is being way too casual.
About everything.
The self-restraint he exhibited in the store is enough to have me questioning whether or not I picked up a doppelganger somewhere along the way and just didn’t notice until now.
During our car ride, he called the store owner and admitted to taking a cart full of products from their store and leaving money in the back.
It’s almost as if being out here in the mountains is both a trigger for the bad memories, while also calming him. Changing him.
I can’t explain it.
“You’re creeping me out.” Hands to my hips, I stare at the now shirtless bassist who chops an onion and then swipes into the sizzling pan.
I didn’t even know he could cook.
“Rude,” he mutters on a scoff, tossing a few cloves of garlic onto the board that his nimble fingers work over.
“And where is your shirt?”
A shrug is all I get before Toby’s palm smacks the side of the knife against the wood, crushing the cloves beneath the blade he quickly chops, then adds to the sauteing onions. “You’re lucky I’m wearing pants.”
I snort. “Cooking while half-dressed is dangerous.” And unsanitary, yet that doesn’t seem to bother me.
He pauses, hands hung over the pan, and flicks his gaze to me. “Something you have some experience with, Prune?”