Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(9)

“Sit. Down,” I say in a firmer tone, which stops her.

She slowly turns on her heel. “Uh, excuse me?” she asks, a spark of fire lighting up her burning irises. “Did you just try to use some alpha-hero voice on me?”

“Alpha-hero voice? What the hell is that?” I ask.

“I don’t think he reads romances like you,” the friend says. “And I think he has a point. You owe him.”

“Ross, whose side are you on?” Ollie asks, flapping her hands.

Ah, his name is Ross.

Man, does he look like a Ross. The name fits him perfectly.

“Yours, Ollie. But he’s right. You do owe him. At least listen to what he has to say.”

“And what if he’s a predator, huh? You’re just going to let me sit next to a predator?”

“If anyone is a predator, it’s you,” I say. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

“Oh please,” she says, exasperated. “You kissed me back, and don’t even pretend you didn’t like it.”

Ross, being of sound mind, says, “He’s a hockey player. Pretty sure he isn’t going to risk his reputation on being a predator.”

“That’s what he wants you to think,” Ollie says, putting up a pitiful fight. When Ross just gives her a look, she grunts out in frustration. “Fine.” Ollie throws her arms up in the air. “But I’m agreeing to nothing.” She gets a few inches from my face as she says, “You hear that? I agree to nothing!”

Reluctantly, she takes a seat on the barstool and slaps her clutch on the bar top. She turns toward me with her arms crossed under her breasts, which perks them up even more.

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” Ross says, slowly backing away.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Ollie asks. “You can’t leave me with this guy. For all we know, he could be a murderer ready to drug me and take me back to his lair, where he’ll sell my body parts on the black market.”

First predator, now a murderer. She sure does have a high regard for men who help her out.

“Yet . . . you kissed me,” I say.

“Out of sheer desperation. You saw the disbelief in Candace’s eyes. She needed to be put in her place.”

“I’ll be right over there,” Ross says, pointing to the end of the bar.

Ollie turns her attention toward the end of the bar. “Oh, near Fernando from accounting? The guy you’ve had a crush on all summer?”

Looking guilty as shit, Ross says, “He has his top three buttons undone. It’s clear he’s open for business tonight.”

“Dear God,” Ollie says while pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine, go flirt. But you are not to leave this bar until I’m safe from this overlord.”

“Overlord?” I ask. “Jesus Christ.”

“Well, come on. Can’t you just be a good Samaritan and do something for a damsel in distress without needing something in return? What happened to white knights?”

“Equal opportunity for all. That’s what happened,” I answer.

“Ugh, men.”

“So . . .” Ross says, rocking on his heels. “Am I good to go?”

“Yes, go. But don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” He kisses Ollie on the head and then takes off, leaving me alone with the now disgruntled woman with the perfect lips.

“Okay, you have me. Now, what do you want?” she asks with a snap to her tone.

Yeah, what do you want, Silas?

I’m not even sure. I just know that I couldn’t let her walk away, not when I feel like I could use her the same way she used me.

Needing to collect my thoughts, I say, “Want a drink?”

“Actually, yes. Margarita on the rocks, no salt.”

That I can do. Facing the bar, I grab the bartender’s attention with a nod. I give him the order and request a refill for myself. While that’s being filled, I say, “Want to properly introduce yourself?”

“If I must.” She brushes the hem of her tight dress that has ridden up to her midthigh from crossing her toned legs. Just from a quick glance at her shapely shoulders, small waist, and muscled legs, I can tell she works out. “I’m Ollie Owens. I absolutely despise the woman who was just here because she’s a know-it-all anus who is mad at me for using one of her Post-it Notes. And I think out of spite, she decided to date my ex, who I’m over, just so you know. Nothing like freeing the guy who acted like a dead fish in the bedroom.”

I nod. “And what is this assignment she speaks of?”

Ollie rolls her eyes just as the bartender places our drinks in front of us. I offer a thank you and bring my glass to my lips as she says, “Just the stupid end-of-the-year assignment for our internship that’s worth all of my credit.”

I nearly spit out my drink as I attempt to swallow, choking on the burning liquid. After a few coughs, I say, “Internship? As in you’re . . . in college?” When she nods, I mutter, “Jesus Christ, please tell me you’re of age.”

Her brows narrow. “Of course I’m of age. All college students are, you nitwit.”

Huh . . . she’s right. They are.

“How old are you?”

She tilts her head. “Twenty-one. How old are you?”