Page 77 of New Girl in Town
“If she wants to call the police, then we are calling the police,” Grant said, his voice even as he reached for his phone in his jean pocket. “Call ‘em, sweetheart.” He held the phone out to me over his shoulder.
I ran my hands through my hair. “I can use my own phone, you know,” I said, not even having the good grace to feel bad at yelling at Grant even though he wanted to help me.
It was a fine line between love and hate, and I found that having both objects of my emotions in close proximity had me seeing double and not able to control what came out.
“Fine, fine.” Grant held his hands up in a placating gesture, but he kept his eyes on Dylan, who still stood too close for comfort.
“Should I call them, dear?” the older woman asked with a worried glance at me.
I shook my head no. “It’s okay, I can do it.”
I was just lifting the phone to my ear when Dylan made a sudden movement toward me. “Shit,” I gasped and jerked back from Dylan’s outstretched hands. The phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor, but there was no way to reach it because Grant moved forward and shoved Dylan back from me.
It was hot.
I lamented the fact that I most likely needed church for thinking that as my ex-husband and sort-of ex-boyfriend faced off in the hallway of my apartment building. Surely this went against at least three commandments, but I found I couldn’t feel bad about breaking a single one.
“Hey, back up.” Grant’s angry voice filled the hallway, his hands twisted in Dylan’s jacket. “You don’t go near her.”
“Get your hands off me!” Dylan shoved back at Grant, and before I realized it both men were locked in each other’s grips.
“Stop,” I yelled, waving my arms.
Dylan took a swing at Grant, who dodged the punch and swung his own, which landed on Dylan’s jaw. I stopped short as Dylan crashed to the ground in an unceremonious heap. For a moment I wondered if he had been knocked out until he let out a cry. “Aurora! What the hell?!” he howled, clutching his jaw.
“I’m calling the police.” I looked up to see Mrs. Reynolds shaking a finger. “This is a respectable place,” she chided. “You know better than this, Grant St. John.”
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry!” I started forward to Mrs. Reynolds, but the woman disappeared back into her apartment with a quick slam of her door.
Then Dylan sprang to his feet and made a grab for me. What he was going to do once he had me in his hands I had no clue, but I let out a yelp and tried my best to duck away. I felt his fingers twist in my sweater.
“Get off,” I yelled, falling back against the wall. Dylan breathed hard, glaring at me with that familiar look in his eyes that I’d once shrank under.
Now all I wanted to do was punch him.
I’d never been a violent person, but I was set on leaping at Dylan, and I would have if Grant hadn’t tackled him first.
“Be careful!” I yelled, but it was too late because the two men went tumbling down the staircase, their hands still on each other with an errant punch thrown now and again until they reached the ground floor with an unceremonious thud.
I scambled after them, trying to keep an eye on Grant’s head and whether or not it bounced off a stair. I leaned over the banister of the second floor to observe the two men circling each other below. Dylan’s lip was busted, his normally impeccable suit jacket ripped at the sleeve. The buttons on Grant’s ever-present plaid shirt had been ripped off to reveal the white shirt underneath.
My fingers tightened on the banister when I remembered that I should be calling the police. “My phone! Where the hell is it?” I spun in a circle when I heard Dylan yell downstairs.
“Who are you?”
I didn’t expect to hear a reply, certainly not just as loud and guttural a yell as Dylan’s.
“I’m Grant St. John, and I’m in love with her.”
We both stood staring at him, stunned and gaping, for what seemed like a small eternity. Finally, as if he had snapped out of it, Dylan shook his head.
“I’m going to kill you,” he said before throwing himself at Grant, fists swinging.
“Oh shit,” I breathed and took off down the stairs two at a time. “Get away from him, you psycho!”
I made it to the bottom step with the two men trading blows, satisfied to see Grant land another hit to Dylan’s face. That was going to be a black eye the next day, but my satisfaction was short-lived because the front door to the building flew open and the foyer became crowded by police officers.
I leapt out of the way when two officers made a beeline for Grant and Dylan. Falling back against the staircase banister, I did my best to stay out of the way as the officers pulled Grant and Dylan apart. They subdued and handcuffed the pair of them in a matter of moments.
