“I’m good,” I tell him, my voice cool and calm. “I’m here with my friends.”
“I noticed,” he says, leaning in further. I refuse to back away, even an inch. I get the feeling he likes intimidating women, and I don’t plan on giving him an ounce of what he likes.
“You’re not with them now,” he drawls, his words slow. “They haven’t even noticed you’re gone. Bet they wouldn’t miss you if you slipped into the bathroom with me for a few minutes.”
I look him dead in the eyes. “Leave me alone.” My voice is clear, my tone firm.
He leans in farther and my mind races with what I should do next. “How’d you know I like a challenge?”
“Get the fuck away from her.” His voice is a low, menacing growl. If I didn’t know the owner, hadn’t felt the warmth of his hand and the gentleness of his kiss, I’d be terrified.
The guy shifts his slow, lazy gaze to Brady. “Fuck off, bro.” He turns to leave, and for a brief second I think he has given up, but as he’s turning he snatches my hand, yanking me to him. The force is too much, causing me to stumble, and I catch myself on his chest.
“Look at that,” I hear him say, but I’m positive his words are meant for Brady. “She can’t wait to fuck me.”
Two seconds later, the guy is on the ground. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but the grip on my hand is gone and I’m standing on my own two feet, looking down at the guy. His chest is rising and falling, but he’s out cold.
I raise wide eyes to Brady. “Did you—”
He nods. We both look around, but it appears what happened didn’t grab the attention of very many people. The bartender catches my eye and loudly says, “That guy arrived hammered. I’ve been wondering how long it would take him to pass out drunk like that.” He pushes the three glasses of wine and one mocktail closer to me. “These are on the house,” he says in a lower voice. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.” He comes out from behind the bar and looks down at the guy still slumped on the ground.
“You get one side, I’ll get the other,” Brady says, bending down. “Let’s get him to that booth over there.”
They work together and lay the guy on the empty booth.
Brady shakes hands with the bartender, who goes back behind the bar like nothing happened.
Brady comes to my side, running two knuckles down my arm. “You okay?”
“Are you?” I ask, instead of answering. He’s the one who hit someone.
“I’m good. The bartender said he knows someone who’s friends with this guy. He’s going to call and tell him he passed out here and needs to come get him.” Brady looks down at his hand, straightening and flexing his fingers. “I’ll have to call Finn tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“We got in a fight a long time ago and, afterward, he taught me the right way to throw a punch. He’ll be happy to know I finally had use for his lesson.”
I gape at him. “Why did you fight your best friend?”
Brady eyes me. “It was over Lennon. We were young. In middle school, I think.”
I nod once, slowly. “I see.”
I’m starting to feel curious about this Lennon person. Apparently she’s pretty great, since she had two guys in love with her at once.
“Can I help you carry these to your friends?” He tips his head toward the drinks still sitting on the bar.
“Sure.”
We each grab two. I lead the way over to the table, and Brady smiles when Amanda asks where the hell I’ve been.
“Some guy was giving Addison trouble. I helped her out,” he says modestly. I like that he’s not bragging about knocking someone out.
“And he fights for the lady’s honor as well!” Samantha throws a hand into the air. “Is there anything you don’t do?”
“I have plenty of faults, don’t worry,” Brady assures her. He turns to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Unless you need a ride home tonight?”
“Charlie’s my designated driver, but thank you.”
