“I’m sure.” She smiles, and my heart makes another daring dive to my feet and back again. Then she gestures at the chair across from her. “I can tell you don’t believe me. Would you like to sit down so I can explain?”
A beat later, her gaze skitters to my table, still loaded with my half-eaten, gluttonous meal. “Or not,” she adds. “I’m sure you’d like to get back to your?—”
“No.” I quickly take a seat. “I’m done eating.” With a small smile of my own, I add, “I think I’ve gorged myself enough for tonight.”
Her smile broadens, and shealmosthides the resulting flinch. Almost.
Once again, I silently scold myself for thinking of her as anything but a victim.
“Itdoeslook like you ordered enough to feed a small army,” she agrees. “But Carlo’s is the best. So I can hardly blame you. And?—”
But she’s interrupted by the waitress stopping by again, this time with a slice of sausage pizza in hand.
Once the waitress leaves, the fiery-haired woman reaches across the table with her hand outstretched. “I’m Hollis. And I promise, Dave, I’m not in trouble. Though I really appreciate you coming over to check on me.”
Feeling unsettled and more than a little confused, I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Hi, Hollis. Like I said, I’m Dave. Enniston. And I’m really not trying to bother you. But I couldn’t just sit back and not do anything.”
Hollis gives my hand a firm squeeze in return. “And that’s why I’m going to tell you what really happened. Thanks to my job, I consider myself pretty good at reading people. And you seem like a legitimately nice guy.”
“I am,” I answer somewhat idiotically. As if I’d say I’m not?
Judging from Hollis’s expression, she has the same thought as me.
But she doesn’t say it. Thankfully. Instead, she says, “Well, Dave. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I echo. Then I gather my scattered thoughts and ask, “So, if you’re not in trouble… Can I ask how you got hurt?”
She pulls her hand away from mine, and for a second, I feel bereft.
Then she smiles again. “It all started with this asshole at the bar where I work. I noticed him being kind of… aggressive… with the woman he was with. His girlfriend, I think. Not hurting her, but kind of pushing her around. Berating her.”
“Pushing her around?” My voice takes on a rough tone.
“Yeah. I was keeping an eye on them. On her, especially. I know it’s not my job—we’re supposed to get the manager if there’s a problem—but if I’m right there…”
“If he was being aggressive with her,” I start, “then why are you the one with the bruise?”
Hollis lifts her chin, almost defiantly. “Because I don’t like it when men mistreat women. And I made sure he knew that. In no uncertain terms.”
My teeth grind to dust. “So hehityou?”
“Well.” The corner of her mouth quirks. “There was a little more to it than that.”
CHAPTER 2
HOLLIS
This is definitelynothow I expected my Saturday night to go.
As I made my way to Maxwell’s Pub earlier this evening, I was anticipating a shift like all the others. Quiet at the start—mostly serving beer to the long-time regulars—before business picked up around nine with the addition of the local college students. I’d get off around midnight, assuming Delia, my nice but accident-prone co-bartender didn’t do something to injure herself and have to go home early. By one AM, I’d be home and snuggled in bed with my Kindle, ready to read a few pages before falling asleep.
But right about eight o’clock, my entire evening veered dramatically off course.
Now, instead of fighting with the soda machine and making round after round of Big Oranges—Maxwell’s signature drink that always surges in popularity during the Syracuse basketball season—I’m here.
Nursing a bruised cheek that throbs with every pulse of my heart.
Silently bemoaning the hours of tips I’m missing.
