He hauls the man up by the front of his shirt and clamps a hand around his throat like he's picking up trash.
He's always good at being exactly where violence is needed. God, where was that when I was a kid and getting shoved around at school?
"I got him, Raul," he says, almost dragging the guy toward the back door.
"Thanks," I mutter, wiping sweat off my face.
My eyes find hers again.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah." Her voice is shaky but steadying fast.
My dad drags the guy toward the exit, and with one final shove, throws him out the back door hard enough to make it look almost cartoonish.
"Between you and him," she says, pointing to my dad, "that asshole is gonna feel like he got hit by a truck tomorrow."
"He's lucky he gets to wake up tomorrow," I say under my breath.
"I'm Olivia."
My head turns.
She's looking at me now, the anger gone, replaced by something brighter.
"Raul," I say, holding out my hand. "Sorry about earlier."
"Don't be," she says, giving me a mock salute. "You just redeemed yourself, sir."
Fuck.
Why does her calling me sir turn me on?
"Um," she says, clearing her throat. "Would you mind walking me to my car? It might take me a while to clean up, but I don't really want to go out there alone after that. What if he's waiting for me?"
"Yeah, of course."
My inner child is doing cartwheels. The prettiest girl in the club wants me to walk her to her car. I am absolutely winning.
Dad comes over while she heads back to finish closing.
"Who's that?" he asks.
"Just the bartender. She asked me to walk her to her car. That guy assaulted her."
"He what?" Dad says, eyes widening with genuine offense. "Good. I feel less bad about the blood now."
"Blood?" I ask, laughing.
"Just a little. He hit the ground and bounced."
I laugh again, picturing it.
"Good. Fuck that guy."
Dad nods and glances toward the front. "If you're gonna be a while, I'll walk to the car and make a few calls. Plan tomorrow."
"Thanks, Dad."
