Page 9 of A Lonely Road
The rush gradually slowed, leaving only the bachelor party and a few regulars at the bar. I was already extremely grateful for Casey’s help, but even more so when Inoticed one of the groomsmen eyeing Nora toward the end of the night. The man was seated at the far end of the bar, pretending to pay attention to his raucous friends as his gaze slithered over Nora in a way that made my skin crawl.
“What’s up?” Casey asked quietly. She’d known me long enough to detect even the most subtle change of mood, and it must have been clear that I was suddenly on edge.
“I don’t like the way he’s looking at her,” I replied, my voice low.
Casey surveyed the scene and set a hand on my arm. My tension was a palpable thing, my eyes focused on the man watching Nora as I bit back the urge to growl. While I had no right to place any claim on her, I damn well wasn’t going to let her be subjected to the kind of leer that had taken up residence on this sleazeball’s face.
“Given what I’ve heard about our new resident, I’m not sure she would appreciate your interference, Lincoln. Stepping in might do more harm than anything, if you want to stay in her good graces. I’d hate to see you throw it all away over some macho misunderstanding.”
I gave a reluctant nod before turning to serve a customer who’d squeezed in beside the groom. Casey shifted toward that end of the bar, trying to engage the bachelor party attendees in conversation. I was torn—I didn’t want that kind of attention directed at Casey, either, but I knew she was well trained in handling drunks. Hell, we’d trained together in that field. She was more than capable of dealing with them.
When I glanced over again, I caught sight of the man at the end of the bar sliding off his stool and walking unsteadily toward Nora.
“Shit,” I muttered, tossing the towel in my hand to Casey.
We’d find out soon enough if my interference would piss Nora off. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.
Chapter Five
Nora
Withmyheadbent,intent on my computer screen as I debated appropriate idioms, I didn’t notice the man coming toward me until he rapped his knuckles on the lacquered table and scared the living hell out of me.
Reflexively, I closed the laptop and slid it into my bag, rising from the booth as though I'd planned to leave at that particular moment anyway. I had enough experience with drunks to know it was better to cut my losses and get the hell out of there.
“Hey, baby,” the man slurred.
When I glanced at him, my body jerked in surprise and my heart slammed into my throat. He looked a little too much like a ghost from my past, but the resemblance faded as I took in the details—the hair was a similar light, mousy brown, but his facewas too narrow. This guy was thin and wiry, with bloodshot eyes and a look on his face that I knew only too well.
One couldn’t make a habit of working in bars without dealing with his type now and again.
“How about a drink, pretty girl?”
My muscles tensed, more at his smarmy tone than the words themselves.Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. “Thanks for the offer, but I was just leaving.”
“Aw, come on, just one drink. I’m good company, baby, I promise you that.” His gaze traveled over my body in a way that made me feel like I needed a shower. “Oh yeah, we’d be good together. You’ll see. I’ve got all night.”
“Thank you,” I said woodenly, “but no. Like I said, I was just leaving.”
I started to turn away, but the man’s hand shot out to grab my wrist faster than I expected, given the way he was weaving on his feet.
The reaction was ingrained; without thinking, I rotated my arm around to break his hold, grabbed the man’s wrist in return, spun him around, and twisted it hard behind his back until he dropped to his knees with a sharp, startled cry.
“Shit, okay, I’m sorry!” he shrieked. “Fuck, let go!”
I released him immediately, drawing my hand back to my chest in an attempt to slow my racing heart. The man scrambled to his feet and scurried back to the bar, leaving me staring at Jake, who approached us just as the guy hit the floor. The laughingtaunts of the man’s friends pounded in my ears, keeping time with the loud thud of my own racing pulse.
“I have to go,” I whispered, reaching for my bag.
“Nora, wait. Please wait. Let me walk you home. Christ, are you okay?”
Jake grabbed the bag before I could, slinging it across his chest as he studied me. I wasn’t sure what exactly he was seeing, but even after years without a panic attack, I could imagine well enough—white as a ghost, my eyes too wide against my face, breath coming in little gasps that threatened to give way to hyperventilation.
That pathetic image shook me out of my panic, at least a little bit, and irritation rose in its place.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I snapped.
“No,” Jake agreed easily, “I can see that you don’t. But it’s dark out, so I’d feel better with you at my side for my own protection. Let’s go.”
