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The unearned nickname has me gritting my teeth. I spin to the table next to me.

"What's the matter?" He smirks. "Cat got your tongue?"

The East Coast accent stings my ears. My gaze meets a face so tan, it resembles cheap shoe leather. Mid-fifties, portly, balding, and a smile more smug than his appearance gives him the right to be.

Over the years I've perfected the ultimate deadpan expression for overly chummy patrons. I lay it on him, refusing to let him see his remarks ruffle my feathers. A prick like him doesn't deserve that kind of power.

"Did you want to order a drink?" I snap.

East Coast Wanker frowns. "Aww baby, don't be sour. Just want to make you feel better after that little argument you had over there. An exotic beauty like you should never scowl."

Fire dances on my lips. Exotic. Such a backhanded compliment. I suppose all this narrow-minded wanker sees are my dark hair, olive skin, and burnt umber eyes.

"I'm a half-white, half-Filipino woman in the Bay Area. Hardly exotic."

"Someone's fussy. Why don't you come here and take a load off?" He pats his lap. The nerve.

Three men of similar age and appearance sit next to him, each one downing shots or drinks, apparently unfazed by their companion's offensive suggestion.

I let a sharp scoff slip. "Hard pass. Do you want a drink or not?" I tap my foot impatiently. Already my feet ache. I should have worn shorter heels. Maybe I could throw one at East Coast Wanker's head.

"Whoa there." His expression turns cruel. "Just trying to be nice. Don't need to cop an attitude, babe."

"Then stop calling me babe!" I shout.

Half a dozen heads turn in my direction. East Coast Wanker's friends each sport stunned looks. He leans a wobbly elbow on the edge of the table. His glassy stare gives away just how sloshed he is.

"You'd better watch it, missy. Or I'll report you to the manager."

A mystery voice cuts in before I can utter a word.

"Pardon you, asshole?"

I turn to find Thor's long lost twin, but with cropped locks. He's tall, broad, and unquestionably fit. Even through his crisp white button-up, muscles bulge.

He pins the East Coast Wanker with angry green eyes. East Coast Wanker seems to have suddenly sobered, as has the rest of this table. Their whispered murmurs cease under his brooding stare. I can't blame them. If angry Thor crashed my table, I'd shut the hell up too.

"Tough guy, threatening a server you've been harassing. I think you need a lesson in manners. I'd be happy to teach you and your goons a thing or two about respectful behavior." A thick vein bulges from Thor's neck. The scowl he shoots the table could shatter bulletproof glass. "Or you fellas could just leave."

East Coast Wanker and crew jolt up and begin to file out.

"Wait," Thor growls. "Aren't you forgetting something? Pay the lady. And don't forget the tip."

They fumble through their wallets and toss wads of twenties on the table before scurrying out.

Thor directs his gaze at me, but I say nothing. I couldn't even if I wanted to. All I can do is look between him and the pile of cash on the table. It's more than double their tab.

His scowl has faded, leaving a look of kind concern. "You okay?"

I nod.

The corner of his mouth quirks into a soft smile. He nods once, his tousled blond waves glistening in the dim light of the lounge. He starts to walk away, but I catch his wrist. He spins back to me.

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