3. Bar Trouble #3
“Come on, just one dance,” the other woman said, grabbing his arm.
Jake shook it away, smiling as nice a smile as he could muster. “I’ve… gotta get home,” he mumbled.
He got his hand on the metal bar to push the door open, fresh air seeping through the cracks. He could almost taste sweet, cool freedom. But then a voice behind him shouted: “Hey!”
Jake turned on his heel, nearly falling over.
“Keep your hands off my girlfriend.”
A rather large, intimidating man who was twice as wide as Jake in the chest alone stomped over to him, pushing the dancing women out of the way. They stumbled, and the woman who’d grabbed Jake put her hands to her mouth.
“Leave him alone, Ricky,” she said. “He didn’t do anything.”
“He put his hands on you,” Ricky shot back.
If Jake had any sense left in him, he would have shoved himself through the door and run as fast as his numb feet could carry him, but he was too drunk for common sense now. Instead, he stood his ground, ready to calmly, cooly, drunkenly explain that he was not trying to steal this man’s partner.
“It’s a misunder…standing,” he managed. “I’m… I’m gay.”
“He’s gay, Ricky,” the woman said. “Leave him alone. We were just trying to have some fun with him.”
“Like hell you were.” Ricky was speaking so harshly, he spat saliva in Jake’s face. That was not how he wanted to get another man’s bodily fluids on him, and certainly not this man’s. “Gay or not, keep your hands to yourself.”
“I did,” Jake insisted, sudden clarity rising up in him as his impairment gave way to anger. “Leave me alone. I’m not trying to cause t–trouble.”
“You touched my girl,” Ricky repeated. “No one, and I mean no one, touches my Safiya.”
Jake shook his head. “I didn’t mean to.”
“So you did, then.” Ricky frowned. “Fuckin’ liar.”
Before Jake could react, Ricky pulled back his fist, driving it straight into Jake’s cheek. It sent him staggering back against the door, but the alcohol masked most of the initial pain.
The best thing Jake could have done was leave, bearing the ache of a single punch with his tail between his legs. The worst thing he could have done was fight back.
So he did the only thing that seemed reasonable and threw a punch of his own. Ricky’s face was hard, and the alcohol didn’t shield the pain in Jake’s hand nearly as well as it had in his cheek.
“Hey, break it up!” Nick called, rushing to get out from behind the bar. He tried to pull Ricky away first, but Ricky was too big for a man like Nick, and it took two more people to drag him away from Jake, who still lunged at him.
Before anyone could grab Jake, the door to the bar swung open and a familiar scent filled the room: fresh, light, and aquatic. Jake had smelled that smell before.
“What’s going on?” Robbie asked, grabbing Jake’s arm as he scanned the room.
“Bar fight,” Nick panted. “What’re you doing here, Robbie?”
“I was walking past when I heard the commotion.” Robbie spun Jake around to face him, wide-eyed and hot with a mix of rage and sheer surprise. “And I saw this guy through the window. I didn’t think you were the sort of man to get into brawls, Jake.”
Jake tried to speak, but Robbie tightened his grip on his arm—a warning signal for Jake to keep his mouth shut before he made everything even worse.
“Let me take him home. I know where he lives, and I think it’s best that we all forget this happened.”
Nick gave a curt nod. “Just get him out of here.” He turned to the others. “Safiya, you need to take Ricky home, too.”
“But we just got here,” Safiya protested.
“Out. Now.”
Nick pointed to the door, which Robbie dragged Jake out of before anyone else could leave.
The cool summer breeze soothed Jake into passivity, and he stumbled forward with Robbie, his feet barely working anymore.
He couldn’t even feel the pain in his hand now, though a bruise was rapidly forming across his knuckles.
All he was aware of was Robbie’s death grip and a dull throb in his cheek.
“Are you okay?” Robbie asked, his tone softer now.
“Yeah,” Jake slurred. “Just f–fine.”
Robbie shook his head. “You sound great. Come on, try to pick up your feet a little more. I want to get you home before you lose consciousness and I have to carry you back.”
Jake obliged, just as eager as Robbie was to prevent a scenario as heinous as that. But they’d only made it a few feet past the bar when lights flashed and a siren sounded. Jake perked up, a brief wave of sobriety hitting him once again as reality set in.
“Damn it,” Robbie muttered. “Someone called the cops.”
“We should run,” Jake said.
Robbie kept hold of his shirtsleeve, jerking him closer with one quick motion. “You idiot! You’re going to get yourself shot. Just stay calm and I’ll handle it.”
In a moment as vulnerable as this, Jake was forced to put his faith in Robbie, who approached the cops as they got out of their car, calm and composed.
He was in massive trouble, and it wasn’t even his fault.
If only he’d been back home, none of this would have happened, especially the part where the infamous Robbie Eaton had to save his ass.