You see, sometimes, I’m not the wisest with my mouth. I might be smart enough not to rat on Quinton, but that doesn’t also apply to my sarcasm. He can’t have both.

He drops an arm to rub the hard line of his jaw, and his lips curve into a sinister smile. “Say you’ll turn my ass in again, and that sweet mouth of yours will be toothless.”

Well then.

Not trying to have falsies before thirty.

I shut my mouth and curl my arms around myself. “What do you want, Quinton?”

Licking his lips, he eyes me up and down, his predatory expression stronger. “You look good, babe.”

Ugh, vomit.

“And you look gross and criminal.”

Again, this damn mouth.

When he rises to his feet, my back straightens, and the hair on the back of my neck stands, but I quickly fix myself. He advances toward me, needing to only take a few steps before he’s inches away, tipping his head down to stare at me.

Don’t let the psycho know he affects you.

I hold out my palm in warning. “Don’t.”

“Why?” He smirks. “I thought you liked compliments.”

Yes, when I didn’t know you were a damn monster.

Now, you make my skin crawl.

I retreat a step, my back hitting the wall. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t move closer. “Just want to make sure we’re still on the same page.”

“Still on the same page.” I gulp.

He eases closer, slow and wolfish, and caresses my cheek, causing me to flinch. His hand is smooth, yet there’s a greasy coat over it. His breath, a deep cinnamon, hits my skin. “Good. Keep it that way.”

I swat his hand away.

A hard chuckle releases from his chest before he turns and leaves.

As soon as the door clicks behind him, I snatch my teddy, which now feels corrupted, and throw it at the door.

How did he know where I lived?

I need to buy a baseball bat, just in case.

“Everything good?”

I expected this, yet I hoped Lincoln wouldn’t ask that when I returned to the bar. He had seen me when I read Quinton’s text and witnessed the sheer panic on my face.

After Quinton left, I hurriedly locked the door and opened a meditation app my mother had been pestering me to try. Five minutes into forced reflection, my mind wasn’t shutting off, so I quit.

Meditation isn’t what’ll work for me tonight.

I need vodka, or a Xanax, or a distraction.

Working will be good for me.

Nodding, I join Lincoln behind the bar and yank a bottle of vodka from the glass shelf. “Of course.”