Page 22 of Texts From My Exes
Something in her tone prickled the back of my neck. Her mascara was smudged, her hands shaking.
I dropped my voice. “Do you want me to go back in there? Yes or no?”
She swallowed, looking down.
“Harper.” My tone went lethal. “What. Did. He. Do.”
“He liked the dress,” she said finally.
“…Okay.”
“A lot.”
“Explain.”
“He touched?—”
I didn’t wait for the rest.
Red flooded my vision as I barreled back inside. He was at the bar, leaning in too close to the K-pop conspiracy theorist, his hand on her chin.
Nope.
I tapped his shoulder.
He turned, all greasy hair brushing his cheap baby-blue suit jacket, reeking of discount cologne. “Yeah?”
“You don’t just touch someone without their permission,” I said.
He smirked, looked me over like I was a speed bump. “Any girl willing to go on that many dates that fast is asking for something. Dressed like?—”
I didn’t let him finish. One punch. Hard.
He toppled into a barstool, hit the ground with a thud.
“I’ll SUE!” he screeched.
“Try it. You’ll lose. The date was on her phone—camera and all.”
I turned to leave but caught movement—too late. Something slammed into the back of my head.
We went down in a tangle of limbs on the floor as he swung wildly. I countered with my right hook, sending him sprawling across a table.
I dropped a business card on the bar. “For damages.”
It took everything I had not to shoutClark Kent out, but Harper came first.
I got her in the car, got her home. Didn’t even notice the blood until I was in her bathroom.
When I came back, she’d downed an entire bottle of wine and was halfway into another.
“You good?” I asked.
She burped.
I laughed. “Attractive.”
She glared, then softened. “Your eye!” She set the bottle down and crawled into my lap, straddling me before I could react.
