“Oh shit,” the bartender whispered. “Why’d you say that?”
The blond moved like a panther toward me, his hands fisted at his sides.
I guess nobody had ever called him on his studied fakeness before. I resented how he seemed dressed to mock Mitch. Fortunately, Mitch wore his suit like it belonged on him and wasn’t a costume.
“I’m Glen,” the guy announced, moving into my space.
“Hiya, Glen. I’m Ben. Nice to meet ya.” I poured on the country because I knew it would annoy him. He was that type of city guy.
“You replaced me with a country bumpkin, Mitch?”
Since he wasn’t talking to me, even though he was facing my way and still staring at me, I didn’t answer. He wanted a stupid power play? No problem. Bring it on.
“Glen”—Mitch’s voice held a world of warning—”don’t.”
Glen thought I was a threat? Good thing I was here to explain where his real competition was.