“I’m literally scrubbing gum off a table.”
“You’re staring at it like it just told you to fuck off.”
I shrug and toss the rag into the bucket. “Maybe it did.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you home tonight?”
“I live five blocks away, Cal. I’ll be home in ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Still. I saw the way those assholes were tonight.”
“I’m fine.”
He gives me that look, the one that says he doesn’t quite believe me but knows better than to argue.
“Text me when you get in,” he says casually, like he’s asking me to pass the salt.
“I always do.”
“You didn’t last week.”
I freeze for half a second. “I fell asleep.”
“Uh huh.”
I flip him off affectionately and toss my rag in the bucket behind the bar before grabbing my jacket. The night air hits differently when you leave work. Inside the bar, everything feels contained, the noise, the lights, the people. Outside, though, the world opens up into too much space. Too many shadows. Too many places for things to go wrong.
I pull my jacket tighter around me and start walking. The streets are mostly empty, just the distant lull of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from another bar down the block. Streetlights cast uneven pools of yellow light along the sidewalk, and my boots click against the pavement in a steady rhythm that matches my breathing.
It’s the same path I always take. It’s familiar and safe and if I keep my pace even, not too fast, not too slow, I’m home in ten minutes.
Never look like prey. That’s rule number one.
The sound of footsteps behind me registers a second later, and I instinctively slide my hand into my pocket, my fingers curling around my keys automatically. The metal edges press into my skin, keeping me alert.
The sound behind isn’t close, but it’s not far. I don’t turn around to check because turning around gives them confirmation you’re paying attention. That’s rule number two.
I keep walking, noticing that the footsteps match my pace.
Maybe it’s a coincidence. It’s probably a coincidence, but my shoulders tighten anyway. I shift slightly toward the edge of the sidewalk where the streetlights are brighter. My reflection flickers in a storefront window as I pass, my hair pulled back, posture straight, chin lifted like I’m walking toward somewhere important instead of just trying to get home.
And then the footsteps speed up.
Fuck.
They’re definitely closer now.
My pulse ticks faster, and my eyes shift as I look around for other people who might be in the area, but of course, just my luck, I see nobody.
You’re fine.
Just breathe.
And keep walking.
I slide my phone halfway out of my pocket, thumb hovering over the emergency dial without unlocking it. I’m prepared, not scared. This is nothing I haven’t done before.
“Hey,” a voice slices through the air behind me. It’s a male voice, casual in tone. Too casual for my liking. My spine turns to ice and I don’t stop. “Hey. You work at the Alley Tap, right?”
