Tonight, he's drunk.
I can see it in the loose way he's leaning on the bar, the glassy look in his eyes, the too-loud laugh when Harriette walks past. She shoots me a look that says good luck, and I steel myself as I approach, thanking God I have a bar between us.
"Can I get you anything else?" I ask, keeping my voice professional. Distant.
"Yeah." His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate. "Your number."
My stomach clenches. "I've already told you—"
"Come on, sweetheart." He leans forward, invading my space. "Just one drink. What's the harm?”
"I'm working," I say, taking a step back. "And I'm not interested."
His smile doesn't waver. "You keep saying that, but I don't believe you."
The words hit like ice water. How many times did Carl say the same thing? How many times did my "no" not matter because he'd already decided what I wanted?
"I need to get back to work," I say, turning away.
His hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist.
Everything stops.
The noise of the bar fades to a dull roar. My heart slams against my ribs. His grip isn't tight—not yet—but it doesn't matter. Feeling held, trapped, controlled, sends panic flooding through my veins like poison.
"Let go," I say, but my voice comes out too thin. Too shaky.
"Just give me a chance," he says with a wicked smile. He doesn't notice me pulling away. More like he doesn't care.
"Let. Go." I yank my arm, but he holds on, and the panic morphs into something sharper. Angrier.
"Come on, don't be like that—"
"I have a boyfriend," I blurt out.
The words tumble out before I can stop them, desperate and clumsy, the only defense I can think of at the moment. Maybe if he thinks I belong to someone else, he'll back off. Maybe then my "no" will finally be enough.
He laughs. "No, you don't."
The casual dismissal, the certainty in his voice, makes rage flare hot and bright in my chest.
And then I see Kevin.
He's already off his barstool, already moving, and the look on his face is pure, controlled fury. His eyes lock onto the hand around my wrist, and I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches so tight it could shatter.
The words come out before I can think them through.
"Oh, yeah?" I say, meeting the drunk guy's eyes with all the defiance I can muster. "Well, you're about to meet him."
Kevin reaches us in three long strides, and I turn to face him, heart pounding.
"Here's my boyfriend, Kevin."
Kevin doesn't flinch. Doesn't hesitate. His expression doesn't even flicker.
He just steps up beside the guy, fists clenched at his sides, close enough that I'm sure the drunk can feel the rage boiling underneath the surface, and says in a voice like gravel, "You need to let go of her. Now."
His hand settles on the bar as he leans over the man, and for the first time since this man grabbed me, I can breathe.
