A woman at the bar turned to laugh at something her friend said, the sound clear and genuine even from across the room. Something about the tilt of her head, the unguarded nature of her smile, made me pause. She wore simple clothes—dark pants and sweater—her chestnut hair pulled back in a practical knot that was starting to come undone. No makeup that I could see, which made her stand out among the glossed lips and blow outs.
She was utterly unselfconscious, like she had no idea she was the most interesting person in the room.
I moved toward her.
Which is why I noticed the uber-douche next to her slip something into the drink next to her hand.
Motherfucker.
I was moving with a sense of urgency now, and her friend finished sketching something on a cocktail napkin and looked up, her eyes widening slightly as she took me in while she finished her drink.
“Don’t touch that.” The words rushed out as I saw the other brunette reach for the dosed beverage.
She froze, then turned to look at me, eyebrows raised in challenge. Her eyes were green, and they assessed me immediately.
Her astonished “Excuse me?” didn’t give me pause though, because I already had my hand on the fuck head’s shoulder. I pulled him away from the bar, intending to tell him to take a hike, but his predatory gaze slipped over her one more time before he turned to me, and that did it.
I spun him around and slammed him against the bar, my forearm across his chest, pinning him in place. His drink glass rattled against the marble surface.
“Hey, man, what the—” he started, but I cut him off.
“You think I’m just going to let you walk out of here and try this on the next woman?” I kept my voice low. He stilled. People generally did.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he wheezed out, trying to push against my arm.
I pressed harder, leaning in close enough that only he could hear me. “This isn’t a warning. This is me making sure you never get the chance to do this again.”
His face went pale as I pulled out my phone with my free hand, never breaking eye contact.
“Nine-one-one? I need to report an attempted drugging. The perpetrator is still on premises.” I rattled off the hotel’s address while keeping him pinned. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
“You can’t prove anything,” he hissed, but his voice cracked.
The bartender appeared beside us, eyes wide. “What’s going on?”
“This piece of shit drugged that woman’s drink,” I said, nodding toward the woman. “You still have it?”
The bartender’s face darkened. “Yeah, I pulled it the second you said something.” He looked at the guy with disgust. “Security’s on their way up.”
“No, wait—” the guy started struggling harder. “This is insane. I didn’t do anything!”
“Hotel security can hold you until the police arrive,” I told him, my grip never loosening. “We’re going to let them sort this out properly.”
The bartender was already on his radio, calling for backup.
The friend—the one with the glossy black hair and expensive blouse—spoke first.
“How did you know?” she asked, her tone half suspicious, half impressed.
“I saw him.”
I kept my eyes on the woman with the green eyes.
“Oh my god.” Her friend’s hand flew to her mouth.
She assessed me, her gaze direct and unimpressed. “You’re sure?”
I nodded once. “Definitely.”
