Page 6 of Ruined By Protection
The last customer leaves at half past midnight, giving me time to clean up before my shift ends. I wipe down the bar for the thousandth time, enjoying the quiet after hours of noise and chaos. My feet throb and I can't wait to kick my heels off. Usually I'm not closing alone but today is one of those days that I have to do the job for two people.
I'm unloading the garnish tray when a voice breaks the silence.
"Need a hand with that?"
I nearly drop the container of olives. Matteo leans against the bar, watching me.
"Bar's closed." I say wiping like a maniac, not looking at him.
"I don't want a drink."
I finally turn up my eyes to meet his gaze. "Then whatdoyou want?"
His smile is slow and deliberate. "To make sure you get home safely after your shift."
"I can take care of myself."
"I witnessed that earlier," he says, nodding toward where the drunk grabbed me. "Very impressive."
I roll my eyes at his teasing. "I had it under control."
"Of course you did." His voice holds a hint of laughter. "But it's late, and I'm offering a ride."
I stack clean glasses, buying time while my mind races. "Is this your standard approach? Rescue the damsel, then invite her to your room?"
"Who said anything about my room?" His eyebrow arches. "Though the offer's open if you're interested."
Heat rushes to my face. "I'm not going to your hotel room."
"Then let me take you home." He leans forward, resting his forearms on the bar. "It's after midnight, you're tired."
I should say no. The smart answer is definitely no. But the thought of waiting for a bus filled with more aggressive drunks, then walking four blocks to my apartment at this hour...
"I take the bus," I say instead of a direct refusal.
"All the more reason to accept a ride."
His offer is tempting—more than it should be. Part of me wants to see what would happen if I said yes to more than just a ride. The way he looks at me makes my skin tingle. It’s like he can see right through me.
What would it be like to give in? Just once?
The thought surprises me. I'm not impulsive.
But tonight, with my wrist still tender from that drunk's grip and exhaustion weighing on me, the idea of letting someone else take control, even just for a ride home, is ridiculously appealing.
"Just a ride home?" I ask, hating how my voice wavers slightly.
"Just a ride." His eyes hold mine. "Unless you decide otherwise."
I finish wiping down the bar, buying time while I debate with myself. The responsible part of me is screaming that this is a bad idea. The lonely, tired part is winning.
"Fine," I finally say. "A ride would be nice. I need to grab my things from the back first."
"I need to get my keys from my room anyway." He stands. "Meet you outside in fifteen?"
"Make it twenty," I say. "I still need to cash out."
He nods and heads for the door, leaving me standing there with a rag in my hand and my heart beating too fast.
