Man of Honor (Battle Scars #3) - Diana Gardin Page 0,32

Not even her best friends. So I know that I won’t be someone who causes her to fall apart again. I could never do that to her.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” I tell Grisham, my voice gruff. “When she’s with me, she’s safe.”

He nods once, my admission clearly enough for him.

The thumping tones of a song that the girls love, something popular on the radio, begin, and they jump up to dance. Mea exchanges one last fleeting look with me before she’s swept away, and I zero in on her in the crowd. Around the hazy conversation of Grisham and Dare, I watch Mea as she shimmies her stuff on the little circle of wood. When a crowd of college-aged dudes begins to crowd in around our ladies, both Dare and Grisham start to pay attention. Our conversation drops as we take in everything that happens on the dance floor.

The girls are oblivious at first, just dancing in a circle and laughing at whatever silly move Berkeley dishes out. Mea’s the true dancer of the group; her body seems to move like a sultry snake to whatever rhythm the music plays, and it’s a damn sexy sight. The problem is, it’s a sexy sight to more than just me. One guy in particular, all decked out in his collared shirt and backward baseball cap, doesn’t seem to know any better. He swerves behind her, looking for his best way in. When Mea puts her arms up over her head to sway to the beat, he steps into her personal space and places his hands low on her hips. She instantly freezes.

Now usually, I’m not a jealous guy. I’ve honestly never claimed a girl as my own, so there’s never been any reason for the envy to take over. But the memory of what happened when the guy at See Food grabbed her, combined with a spark of rage at another man’s hands on her body, have me out of my seat before I know what I’m doing.

It takes me about four strides to eat up the distance between me and the dance floor, and then I’m forcibly stepping between Mea and the college D-bag.

“Fuck you, dude. I don’t see your name written on her.” College boy clearly isn’t happy with the way things are going down. His friends are nowhere in sight, and Dare and Grisham are standing right beside me. Not that I need ’em.

I flick my hand back toward the tables. “You should have looked a little closer, then.” He opens his mouth to spit back, but then I pull myself up to my full height and advance on him. He looks up at me, and then out at the sheer width of my body before taking a couple of steps backward.

“It’s cool, man.” He raises his hands and turns away.

Berkeley is grinning from ear to ear at my streak of green, but Greta is eyeing Mea with concern.

“You okay?” she asks over the thump of the music. “You don’t look so hot.”

Glancing down at Mea and stooping a bit so I can see her face, I notice that she’s lost some of her color. When I rub my hands down her arms, they’ve broken out in goose bumps, and I can feel the slightest shiver in her muscles.

It’s so similar to the reaction she experienced at See Food, and my brain rockets into overdrive to try and compensate for it.

“You ready to go?” I ask her, my voice low and close to her ear so that she can hear me.

Looking up at me with wide eyes, she nods.

I bark a quick good-bye to Dare and Grisham, while Mea gives a weak smile and wave to the girls. Then I’m grabbing her hand and making our way out of the bar as quickly as I can without picking the little thing up and running with her.

Once we’re seated in the Challenger, the quiet is eerie compared to the noise of the bar. But I can finally really assess her without all of the distractions. Her face is glowing orange in the light from the dashboard, and when I gently take her hand in mine, she doesn’t pull it away.

“Are you ready to talk?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet so I don’t startle her.

A thousand emotions cross her face all at once, and every single one of them makes me want to pull her into my arms and never let her go. I don’t know where