The guy’s voice had gone from annoying to sharp, his hand planted too close to your drink. Before you could snap, a large shadow fell over the table.

Opie didn’t say a word at first — just draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close like it was the most natural thing in the world. He bent down, beard brushing your temple as he whispered, “Go with it.”

When he finally straightened, the look he gave your harasser could’ve stopped a charging bull. “Leave.”

The guy’s smirk faltered, then vanished completely as he clocked the size of the man standing between you and him. He left without another word. Opie glanced down at you, his hand still warm on your shoulder. “You good?”