Page 74 of Ruthless Edge

"Of course," he says. "I'm sure."

I pick up my drink and clench it hard enough that I'm slightly surprised the glass doesn't crack. I have never, in my life, wanted to throw someone out of a bar more than I want to throw Marcus Reed out of this bar. I don't. I pick up my drink because that's the adult move and I'm making it.

An hour in, Marcus turns his chair so he's fully facing Emma, cutting the angle of the table in a way that leaves me looking at his shoulder. He's telling her about a show he saw last month, and his hand comes up and touches her hair, just moving a strand off her face. Emma lets him, still talking, and the hand stays near her shoulder.

I want to break the hand off his arm. That is not a proportionate response and I know it. I pick up my drink. Again.

Marcus laughs at something Emma says and pulls her sideways into him, his arm around her shoulders. Emma leans into him laughing, and then he dips his head and brushes his mouth against her ear, saying something low that makes her eyes go wide and then crinkle shut with laughter.

"Marcus," she says, smacking his arm. "You are so bad."

"I know," he says, entirely pleased with himself, and winds a piece of her hair around his fingers.

I try to get their attention. "Hey, so⁠—"

Neither of them looks over.

I reach for my drink, which has been refilled four times in the last hour along with everyone else's, and I think of several things that I'm not going to say out loud in a bar. The mild dislike I started the evening with has sharpened into something dangerous. I'm not a violent person by nature. I play a violent sport but that's different, that's sanctioned, there are rules. Right now I am counting the ways I could physically remove Marcus Reed from his chair, none of which involve rules. I keep stopping myself because Emma is right there. I don't know why she brought this guy and I'm starting to wonder if I've been reading everything wrong. If she's been keeping me at a distance because Marcus is already there. If this whole semester I've been pushing on a door that was locked from the other side for a reason.

The thought makes me feel sick.

Marcus tilts his head toward Emma and says, just loud enough to carry, "Has anyone told you how beautiful you look tonight?" His arm pulls her slightly closer. "Because if Carter hasn't mentioned it, someone should."

Emma shakes her head, smiling. "Stop."

"I'm serious." He says it warmly, eyes on her face, like I'm not sitting three feet away.

I set my glass down. My jaw is tight enough to ache. He looked right at me when he said Carter. He knows exactly what he's doing. He said my name like it was a minor inconvenience, like I'm a detail in the background of a night that's actually about him, and Emma is smiling at him, and I am gripping the edge of the table and trying very hard to be a person who handles things maturely.

Marcus leans back in his chair, still with his arm around her, the picture of contentment, and says directly to me, "You know, I read somewhere that a lot of athletes use steroids to perform better." He shakes his head slowly. "Apparently it does real damage. Shrinks things." He pauses. "I believe the term was micro-penis."

Rory inhales sharply. Jace looks at the ceiling.

Emma's mouth drops open and she smacks his chest. "You are terrible. Oh my God. Are you sure that’s for real?"

I am going to flip this table. I am absolutely going to flip this table. I am a grown man with good self-control. I have never wanted to flip a table more than I do right now, sitting here in this bar while Marcus Reed implies I have a small penis to the woman I've been trying to get close to for three fucking years, and everyone at the table is either laughing or trying not to. I am gripping the edge of my seat and breathing through my nose like a person who has not lost his mind.

My gaze meets my sister Rory’s for a brief moment, before she looks away, but I swear she looked guilty. Ethan? Ethan definitely looks guilty as his gaze skirts away from mine. What the hell? Why are they even allowing this shit?

Marcus laughs, a full, delighted sound, and in one motion pulls her clean off her chair and into his lap. "I'm just sharing information," he says, while Emma laughs and swats at him again.

That's it.

I'm out of my chair.

I'm around the table in three steps and I have Emma by the waist and she's on her feet before Marcus can say another word. I put myself between them, chest to chest with Marcus now. He tips his chin up to look at me with that same calm, unreadable expression, and I'm breathing hard.

"Touch her again," I say, "and I will beat the living hell out of you."

Marcus doesn't move.

"Knox." Emma's hand finds my arm. "Knox."

"He just⁠—"

"I know what he did." Her voice is steady. Her hand presses into my arm. "Look at me. Look at me."

I look at her.