He watches me stand. His jaw shifts. "You sure you're not being dramatic?"
I smile without warmth. "I'm sure."
I turn and head toward the back hallway. I need space. I need a breath. Mostly, I need Gabe.
The bathroom door closes behind me, and the music from the restaurant dulls. My pulse thumps against my ribs. My hands shake as I pull out my phone.
My fingers hover over his name.
Gabe.
The man who looked at me like I mattered.
The man who kissed me like I was something he lost and finally found.
The man who will probably implode when he sees this text.
I type before I can rethink it.
I miss you. I'm sorry.
My thumb hits send. I stare at the screen, stomach twisting. Then someone knocks on the bathroom door, and my whole body jumps. Grimacing, I open it to find Leo standing there, his ridiculously big lips curled into a smirk. "Thought you could use the company."
"This is the ladies' section," I reply, fighting to keep the rage and disgust from my voice. He's giving me the ick. "Did you get lost?"
He laughs lazily and steps in, blocking my exit. "Let's say I did. What you gonna do about it? I know you've been wanting me all night long."
I'd be terrified if I weren't overcome by the urge to laugh.
I try to walk around him. "Move."
"No," he says. "We're not done." He plants his hand on the frame again. "Come on, Lena. Don't be dramatic. Let's have one more drink and see where the night goes."
"The night's going home without you," I say, shifting to pass him.
He slides sideways and blocks me again. "Why are you acting like this? I'm being nice."
I stare up at him. "You don't know me."
He laughs under his breath. "I don't need to know you to see that you're starving for male attention. Now you're running off like?—"
I punch him.
I don't even think about it. My fist just flies. It connects with his throat first, because I'm shorter than him and misjudged the angle. He chokes, bends forward, and that gives me a perfect line to his jaw.
I hit him again.
He yelps like a kicked dog and falls against the wall, hands flying up to protect whatever pride he has left. His face turns a blotchy pink. His eyes water. His mouth falls open.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he sputters.
"My bad," I say. "My hand slipped. Twice."
He glares at me through one eye. The other is already swelling. "You're crazy."
"You're in my way," I answer.
He tries to stand straighter, but the pain won't let him. He grabs the wall and groans. "You can't hit people!"
