Page 33 of Only and Forever
“I surprised you,” I counter.
“You did. But it’s not your fault.”
“Still—”
“Tallulah?” A low, rough voice breaks our conversation. Both she and I turn toward the person at the end of our booth, smilingat Tallulah. Mid-height. Bulky. Covered in tatts. It all feels vaguely familiar.
Tallulah’s face smooths, her expression turning cool and unreadable. “Clint.”
Recognition dawns. I know this guy. I’ve seen him at the tattoo shop where Seb and I have gotten inked. He works there. If he recognizes me, though, he doesn’t show it.
His smile kicks up higher at the corner as he stares at Tallulah. At first I thought it was a friendly smile, but now I can see it has an edge to it. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Eating,” Tallulah says, gesturing to our plates. “With my friend.”
I feel a little rush of pride. She called me her friend.
Clint huffs a breath as he throws a glance my way. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to yourfriend?”
Tallulah blinks, peering my way. I see something now in her expression that makes my chest tighten, my heart twist. I recognize someone hiding when they’re hurting. I’ve been doing it for years. Hiding when I’m lonely. Hiding when another person found me useful or funny until they decided I’d worn out my welcome. This guy hurt her somehow, and she’s trying so hard to hide that.
“Right.” She clears her throat. “This is—”
“Viggo Bergman.” I offer the guy my hand, prepared for what’s coming: a hard squeeze.
He’s got a firm grip, I’ll give him that. But I’ve been chopping wood and climbing, bouldering and building, since childhood. I have very strong hands. And I make sure Clint feels that.
His jaw flexes as I squeeze back, then release my grip. Whoever this guy was or is to Tallulah, I don’t like how she dimmed as soon as he showed up. I don’t like the hurt that she’s barely hiding behind her cool facade.
“Clint Marwood,” he says. As he shoves his hands in hispockets, Clint gives me an appraising once-over. His gaze lingers on my shirt. An empty laugh jumps out of him. “Wow, Tallulah, your ‘friend’ loves romance novels. How’s that working out for you? And I thoughtwewere a stretch.”
“Clint,” Tallulah warns. “Stop—”
“You’ve told him, right?” He plants his hands on our table’s edge, dropping down. I smell the booze on his breath as he turns toward me. “She’s told you, huh? She ‘doesn’t do love.’ What she really means is, she’s emotionless. Soulless. She lures you in with that untouchable aura, fucks you, then fucks you up—”
I’m out of the booth before I even know what’s happening. Clint pushes off the table and takes a reflexive step back as I stare down at him, fire in my veins. “You can leave now.”
He huffs a laugh, bathing my face in the smell of alcohol. “Who the fuck are you to—”
“Leave.” I take a step closer as I glare down at him. “And leave Tallulah the hell alone, unless she tells you otherwise.”
Clint glances over at Tallulah. She isn’t looking at him, though. She’s looking at me. I meet her gaze. “Do you want this guy bothering you anymore, Lu?”
She swallows, then shakes her head. “No. I want him to leave me alone.” Finally, she looks his way. “Go.”
He stares at her, then glances from Tallulah to me.
I hold his gaze, daring him to challenge me. “She. Said. Go.”
Begrudgingly, he takes a step back. Then another. “Whatever.” Then he spins on his heel and struts over to the counter, where they set to-go orders.
Tallulah drags her purse onto her lap and starts digging around. “I want to leave.”
“Okay.” I pull out my wallet, relieved I actually have a twenty in there, which I set on the table. I get the feeling Tallulah doesn’twant to wait around to pay with a card. Tallulah pulls out way more cash than she owes, tosses it on the table, and snaps up her wallet before she slips it in her purse.
On the outside, she looks calm and cool, her movements serene, no rush. But I can tell she’s upset. Very, very upset.
Slowly, Tallulah eases out of the booth. I turn my back to the asshole, a human shield protecting her from even having to look at him.