Page 12 of A Date with Fate

In almost any other situation, I would’ve stepped back and let her handle things on her own, but that sadness in her face, the tidbits of stories from her recent relationships, kept surfacing.

Could she handle this guy on her own? Absolutely.

Was I going to let her tonight? No way.

“What do you think?” I said, standing slowly, letting our still knitted fingers show between.

“Whoa, big fella, I didn’t mean anything…” His slow blinks assured me he’d had too much to drink. But still, his proximity to Taylor was making me itchy. “But I was asking the lady.”

Taylor slowly loosened her fingers from my grip, freeing herself to turn around and stare at the newcomer. “Ask me again,” she said calmly. Too calmly. My cock twitched in my jeans as I realized my girl was about to inform this guy about how much he’d regret coming over here. She was glorious like this, dark hair swishing over her shoulders as she tapped manicured nails against the bar.

The guy leaned back a bit, realizing perhaps he might have bit too much off with this one. Pride bloomed in my chest as I crossed my arms, my weight shifting forward so that Taylor only had to lean back to rest against my body.

Finally, our new “friend” took the bait. Poor bastard. “Are you with him?”

Taylor moved, sliding off the barstool so that she could get even closer to him. And while I hated the distance, I stood my ground.

“That's actually not what you said,'' Taylor said, getting within inches of his face. “You asked my friend here if I was with him. And that, my friend, was your first mistake. Because if you had had any chance to begin with, the moment you labeled me something that could be ‘with,’ like an object or a fashion accessory, you revealed just how different you and I are. And how it wouldn’t matter if I was with him or anyone else, because I would never, ever let a letch like you ‘have me’.” Taylor ended her monologue with air quotes. Then leaned to the side, giving him a long, slow appraisal. “Do you understand?”

Laughter burned in my throat.

“You bitch!” The new guy was pissed now, his fists balled up at his sides. “You think awfully highly of yourself, but you just saved me a shit load of regret.” He looked up and met my eyes. “Good luck with this one. I bet she’s even more frigid in bed as she is out of it.”

I wasn’t sure who lunged first, Taylor or me, but I managed to slip an arm around her body, hauling her back against and behind me as I lurched forward. It felt as natural as breathing to wrap my hands around the collar of his shirt and jerk him upwards.

“Don’t ever, ever talk about her again.”

“Fuck, man, let me go.”

“Say it. Repeat it back to me so that we’re clear.”

He flailed in my grip, and I relished his lack of fight. He was clearly fighting panic and had no intention of doing anything but spit hateful things at Taylor. “I won’t talk about her again. I promise. Now put me the fuck down.”

He still deserved a punch to the face. But I didn’t want Taylor to think any worse of me than she already did for acting like a barbarian.

The bartender spoke up from beside us. “Hey buddy, he’s just a dumbass. Put him down. You and your girl need to get out.”

Taylor’s hand was at the small of my back. “Let’s go.” She held up a box of popcorn and her half-drunk beer. “We can make a run for it.”

I almost laughed out loud. “Fine.”

I set him down, frowning as he scuttled away. The smattering of other patrons were looking at us funny, and I didn't think it was because Taylor was stealing a paper bowl filled with popcorn. It was definitely time to leave. Taylor stepped up beside me, and I tucked an arm around her, gathering her close as we moved through the bar.

“This is my first time in an almost bar fight,” she whispered to me, her words a little slurred in a mixture of excitement and alcohol. “How would you say it's going?”

“Just great, honey. Just great.” I nodded at a patron coming through the door. As soon as the cool night air hit our skin, I stormed off across the lot. I had only had one beer, but I wasn't about to get involved in some small-town drama or start a brawl anywhere close to where Taylor could be caught in the fray.

We needed to leave.

Now.

“Easy, Scott, I’m trying to keep up.”

Without breaking stride, I reached down and scooped her up. “You want to know the truth about bar fights?”

“What?”

“No one wins, and they never end that quickly.”

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