The neon glow of Ruby’s Diner buzzed against the warm summer night, casting pink and blue halos across the chrome bumpers lined up outside. Inside, the booths were packed with laughter and jukebox tunes, the scent of burgers and fries thick in the air.

Duke Harper sat in the corner booth, legs spread wide, a cherry coke in one hand and you tucked snug between his legs, perched on his lap like you belonged there—which, in his mind, you did. His other hand rested lazily on your hip, thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your shirt as he laughed at something Johnny said, nearly choking on a bite of his burger.

“Man, you’re full of it,” Duke chuckled, grinning at Johnny. “Ain’t no way you beat Ace in that drag last week. You were runnin’ on fumes and prayers.”

Ace smirked, flicking his comb through his hair. “Fumes and charm, Harper. That’s all I need.”

Duke rolled his eyes, taking a long pull from his coke. He didn’t even notice when you shifted off his lap to sit beside him—his hand just slid down to rest on your thigh, still touching, still tethered.

That’s when the door jingled.

A group of guys strolled in—loud, cocky, and already looking for trouble. Johnny’s smile faltered. Red straightened in his seat. Duke didn’t even glance their way at first… until one of them made a beeline for your side of the booth.

“Well, hey there, sweetheart,” the guy said, leaning a little too close. “Didn’t know they let angels hang around grease monkeys.”

Duke blinked. His hand stilled.

“Why don’t you come sit with us?” the guy continued, nodding toward his table. “Bet we could show you a real good time.”

Red’s hand was already on Duke’s shoulder. “Don’t,” he muttered.

Johnny leaned in from across the table. “Duke. Not here.”

Duke’s jaw clenched. His eyes locked on the guy, steel-hard.

“You got about two seconds to back off,” he said, voice low and flat. “Before I make you eat that toothpick you’re chewin’.”

The guy laughed, clearly not reading the room. “C’mon, doll. You don’t gotta waste your time with this grease-stained mutt. Bet he ain’t even—”

He didn’t finish.

The second the words left his mouth, Johnny and Red let go. Ace and Bucky, who’d been trying to play peacemakers, stepped aside.

Duke was up and over the booth in a flash, grabbing the guy by the collar and slamming him against the jukebox hard enough to skip the record.

“You talk to ‘em like that again,” Duke growled, “and I’ll make sure you’re drinkin’ your dinner through a straw for the rest of the summer.”

The guy’s buddies scrambled to their feet, but Ruby herself was already storming over from behind the counter.

“Duke,” she said, arms crossed. “You throw ‘em out, or I will.”

“With pleasure,” Duke muttered.

He dragged the guy by the back of his jacket, kicked open the door with his boot, and tossed him out onto the sidewalk like yesterday’s trash. The guy landed hard, groaning, while his friends scrambled after him.

Duke dusted off his jacket, adjusted his collar, and sauntered back inside like nothing happened. The diner had gone quiet, but no one dared say a word.

He slid back into the booth, pulled you right back onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around you tight. His face pressed into your neck, breath warm against your skin.

“Sorry, baby doll,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody talks to you like that. Not while I’m breathin’.”

He wouldn't be letting go for a long while.