Page 59 of Glass Half Full
How flattering. I’m swooning where I stand.
“You’re going to have to leave now. We’re closed.”
He leans his forearms against the bar, bringing his face close enough for me to make out the glassiness of his eyes, the delay in the way he blinks. He’s more drunk than I thought.
“Just one drink,” he pleads. “Just one drink with a pretty girl like you.”
“I said no.” I speak as firmly as I can without running the risk of getting him angry. “You need to leave. Now.”
He cocks his head to the side. “What if I don’t?”
The tension in the room rises in frequency until it’s almost a static whine I can pick up with my ears. The hair on my arms is standing on end, and I can feel sweat start to prick the back of my neck.
Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.
I’m stuck behind a bar. There’s nowhere to fly to, but there’s also no way I want this coming down to a fight. I’m gripping the keys so hard they’ve started cutting into my skin.
We stand locked in place like a predator and its prey. I’m so tense I flinch when the man finally throws his head back and laughs. It’s an ugly, raspy sound.
“Only joking, doll. Only joking. Jesus Christ, you need to relax. Do yourself a favour and have that beer when I’m gone.”
He taps the bar with his knuckles again and saunters off to the door, stumbling slightly when he stops to reach for the handle.
“Goodnight, beautiful,” he calls over his shoulder.
Then he’s gone.
I only stay still for a split second before I bolt to the door and fumble with the key. My hands have started shaking so bad it takes a few tries to get it locked, and my eyes keep darting up to the street outside, waiting for him to come back. When the lock finally slides in place, I sprint back behind the bar and brace my hands on its surface, breathing hard. The adrenaline that kept me level-headed is working its way out of my system now, making me nauseous. I let my forehead drop all the way to the bar top, the coolness of the wood bringing a fraction of relief as the room continues to spin.
He’s gone. He’s gone. You’re okay. He’s gone.
It’s not a panic attack. I’m not that far gone, but I still let out a shriek when I hear someone knock on the front door.
“Renee!” Dylan shouts, loud enough for me to hear him through the glass. “Renee!”
He’s already fitting his key in the lock, and he makes it behind the bar in just a few strides after throwing the door open.
“What happened? Are you okay? Your face is fucking...green!” he stammers. “What the hell happened?”
He rests his hands on my shoulders, peering into my face.
“I...He...”
“Did someone hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“Oh thank god.” His shoulders sag with relief, and he drops his hands off my shoulders only to wrap his arms around me and pull me into his chest.
I breathe in the scent of laundry soap and his skin, focusing on that alone as I press myself as hard as I can against him. He tightens his grip, surrounding me entirely, and we stand like that for a long, long time.
When I finally lift my head, he lets me step back enough to run his hands up and down my back, repeating the motion as he asks me what happened.
“This guy, he was...being a little creepy all night,” I admit, and Dylan’s expression darkens. “I didn’t think much of it. There have been creeps in here before, and his friends were all right. After I got off the phone with you, I thought they had all left, but it turns out he was still here. He wanted me to have a beer with him. I kept telling him to leave. He asked what I was going to do about it. Then he just laughed and left.”
“He’s never coming in here again,” Dylan says firmly, almost menacingly. “None of them are. They’re banned, and Sam is getting a talking to.”
“He was really scared about his girlfriend, and I told him he could go,” I protest. “I don’t want him to think—”
