Reacher, for all his logic and military training, is still a man. A red-blooded, American man. And boy, does he feel it right now.

He'd been hitchiking through the south for a while, he'd seen plenty, and God, he hadn't seen anyone as pretty as you in a long while.

With that pretty little southern accent, and that service smile... It had him in knots.

And hearing those assholes at the table across the diner whistling at you like a dog had him mad. Real mad.

"You know them?"

He asks as you approach to top up his coffee, tone calm but barely restrained.