Lunatic:smiling face with horns emoji
Me: Fuck you!
I hit the off button and toss my phone back into my purse.
“Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?”
She shrugs. “I have a test this week for my philosophy course.”
“Let’s go barhopping.”
She smiles. “Yeah. I need a drink.”
“Sounds awesome to me.”
We arrive at the bar, and it’s packed with people. The neon lights burn my eyes, and the crowd is too loud for my ears. We’re not dressed for it. I don’t care; I just don’t want to go home to that lunatic. I order a drink and pay with cash, just in case Irvin tracks his debit card. It feels good to have some fun, to let my hair down. I remove my bow from my head and shake my ass to the booty-shaking music. I down a few shots of tequila. Winter dances with me and grabs her phone, pressing it to her ear with one finger. Her eyes meet mine.
“Yeah, she’s here.”
“Who was that?” I slur.
“It was Keanu. Irvin wanted to know where you were.”
That son of a bitch. He will never leave me the fuck alone. Does he really need to know where I am at all times?
Someone wraps their arms around my waist, and I turn and push him away. I sway, trying to catch my balance.
“Please don’t touch me.”
I glance into the fucker’s eyes. Chocolate eyes beam at me. His pupils are dilated too. He might be drunk. He’s not bad-looking—looks like a student from campus. Same height as me, built like a runner.
“Aww, come on, baby, let’s dance.”
I hold up my prison band. It comes in handy for situations like this. “No, thanks. I’m married.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and yanks my hair. My scalp stings. My heart hammers against my rib cage. I smack him across the face—hard. My hand aches. I knee him in the gut.
He lets me go. I squeeze between two other people. My eyes scan for the exit. The guy rushes toward me.
Winter stands in front of me and balls up her fist. “She said leave her alone.”
The guy grits his teeth. “Move. I want the purple-haired girl.”
He digs his nails into Winter’s forearm and shoves her to the ground.
Oh, hell no. I elbow him in the stomach and smack him on the top of his head.
“Don’t ever pu—”
I’m yanked by the shoulders. I glance up. Irvin’s cold gaze locks on the guy. He grabs him by the throat, squeezes until the guy’s eyes pop, and slams him against the bar.
“No one—and I mean no one—touches my wife.”
Irvin’s eyes are devoid of emotion, but his jaw clenches. He punches the guy in the stomach and breaks a bottle of whiskey over his head.
Warmth spreads across my chest. I breathe in and out. Why am I turned on by the way he’s hurting the guy?
Keanu kicks the guy in the stomach. He and Irvin beat the poor man to a pulp—fist, knee, fist, knee.
