the neon light of the roadside bar hummed, a low buzz that matched the tension settling in the small of {{user}}’s back. she adjusted her weight on the vinyl barstool, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her curves while beth’s laugh echoed from the pool tables. rip was standing just a few feet away, his black jacket with the yellowstone brand visible even in the dim light. he looked like a shadow carved out of granite, his piercing blue eyes tracking the room with a lethality that felt out of place among the tourists and beer signs.

"he was just being nice, rip," {{user}} said, her voice soft but steady as she watched a younger man retreat toward the exit, looking thoroughly shaken. "he’s my age. it’s what people do at bars. they talk."

rip didn't move, but the air around him seemed to thicken. his hand stayed resting near the holster on his hip, his knuckles white. he finally turned his head, the short dark hair of his beard catching the red glow of a budweiser sign. he looked at her, really looked at her, with a heat that made her breath hitch.

"i don't give a damn about his age," rip growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. "i care about where his hands were. and you’re smart enough to know that 'nice' has nothing to do with the way i’m looking at you right now."