I yank away my rogue hand as if I’ve been burned. Shit.

“I’ll owe you, okay? Any favor you want at the time of your choosing.”

I arch a brow. “Anything?”

“Please?” That’s when I see the fear in her eyes.

I swallow. “Yeah, okay. Sure.” So I step closer, lean in, and tilt my head, as if we’re in the middle of an intimate conversation and not two friends who have agreed to stay that way. I drag my knuckles up her side and feel her shiver under my touch. “Who is he?” I want to turn around and see him for myself—him, because I have no doubt this is about a guy—but I won’t look. I’ll stand here and play along. For her.

“An ex.” She wraps her arms behind my neck and buries her face in my chest. I hold her close, even when Jake flashes me a questioning glance behind the counter, even when I feel the eyes of the stranger behind us.

“Teagan?”

Her beautiful olive skin pales at the deep male voice. I keep my body angled toward hers but slowly turn my head.

Here’s a fun fact about guys who lift: we notice when other fit dudes are around. Measure ourselves against them. And the guy staring at Teagan right now makes me feel small. He’s not just built, he’s musclebound in a way that reminds me of the little brother from A Christmas Story. “I can’t put my arms down!”

I don’t recognize the guy as a local, but she clearly knows who he is—knows enough to want me to act as an emotional shield between them. Maybe a physical one, too.

Dismissing him with little more than a sneer, I turn back to Teagan and lower my mouth to her ear—a lover whispering a secret. “Need me to get rid of him?” I ask softly.

She shakes her head and shivers again. She’s not trembling from my touch or in anticipation of my kiss. She’s terrified, and that alone is enough to make me hate this man. I press my body closer to hers, the need to protect as instinctive as my pull toward her.

I hold her close, whispering, “I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? You’re safe.”

“Teagan, is that you?” the guy asks.

She swallows, and I can feel the faint tremor of her shaking hands as she grips my arms. In the next moment, she pastes on a smile and turns her attention to the ex. As if noticing him there for the first time, she steps out from between me and the wall. “Oh my goodness! Rich? Is that really you?”

The bastard’s gaze is all over her. I understand the instinct—she’s gorgeous, and tonight she’s wearing black shorts that show off her legs and a Jackson Brews T-shirt that stretches tight across her chest. Any hetero, red-blooded male would struggle not to look twice. But there’s an ownership in the way this guy looks at her that makes my blood boil.