Chapter 1 #2
“Ev, huh,” Tom says slowly. He begins looking me up and down again like he is picking out a steak he’s going to devour later. There’s nothing I hate more than being sized up, especially by stereotypical bar assholes. Exhibit A: the guy standing right in front of me.
“I got me a friend, too,” Tom says, cocking his head to the side and scratching his chin, his gaze rests a little too long south of my face.
“Hey, Bud! Bud over here!” he shouts.
Bud? Is his friend’s name actually Bud or is he calling his buddy? The stupidity of it all has me chuckling. Wingman buddy, no doubt.
Before I have a chance to think about looking towards where Tom has just gestured, the breath of another person on the back of my neck makes my skin crawl. Stale, grotesque, I instantly feel hostile and nauseous.
“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing,” Bud slurs. His breath smells of whiskey. I don’t even bother to look up at him. I keep my eyes trained straight ahead at Gwen whose gaze still hasn't left her phone.
“Gwen,” I plead.
Maybe I can talk her into leaving and getting out of here.
But my severely intoxicated friend only glances up from her phone and gives me a drunken stare. “What?” she mumbles, obviously annoyed, then looks back down again.
An escape is definitely not in the cards.
Turning around, I meet the eyes of our new guest for the first time.
He’s about five-eight or nine, cleanly shaven, muscles bulge out of his shirt, which happen to be two sizes too small for him.
The sorry excuse for a shirt is labeled with a surf brand.
I have to stifle a laugh because I know this man has probably never surfed a day in his life.
Tight jeans, impeccably clean shoes, he has a few tribal band tattoos on each bicep. He’s also wearing so much cologne that it almost overpowers the smell of whiskey seeping from his breath. Not entirely, but almost.
“I’m not your pretty little thing if that’s what you’re insinuating,” I sneer, just as the waitress returns with our drinks.
I grab my drink and take a long sip, hoping maybe he will get the hint and leave me alone.
I try to emphasize this by swiveling in my chair so my back now faces him, but my plan fails.
Bud holds his glass up to the waitress, signifying he obviously wants another, to which the waitress just rolls her eyes and walks away. Great, Bud is also an ill-mannered jerk. Not that I am surprised. They tend to run in packs. He then rounds my side and walks right in front of me.
Bracing his arms on the table behind me, he leans in close and whispers, “Why don’t we just wait and see where the night takes us,” then drunkenly teeters back after he takes it upon himself to cheers his glass against my own. Like a toast is all that’s needed to seal the deal and change my mind.
Do men actually think women fall for this?
“How about we don’t,” I shoot back, swiveling my chair again in the other direction.
“Hey, come on now. A sexy siren like yourself has to be used to all sorts of attention.”
He tries to touch me by moving my hair off to one side and leaning in closer from behind. I shrug his hands off.
Get the hint already and back off, Bud!
“I know you didn’t step out of the house looking like that to not get noticed,” he says.
Rounding my side and walking in front of me again, he gives me an awkward-looking wink.
I have to swallow back the vomit that involuntarily starts to rise in my throat.
Go ahead and touch me one more time and see where that gets you, asshole.
An unpleasant silence falls between us as we sit and stare at one another.
Rolling my eyes, I stand up from the table and try to think of a way to lose Bud.
Maybe I can claim to need to use the restroom.
Maybe I should pretend I smoke so I could go outside and hopefully ditch Bud and his wingman in the process.
Tom, the wingman, who, along with Gwen, is now missing. A blank stare crosses my face.
Frantically, I begin looking around the bar for Gwen as Bud takes a step closer.
It’s as if he thinks standing up from the table is code for wanting him to move in.
Moron. I roll my eyes, and then continue to try and put distance between us as I scan the room for any sign of my now missing best friend.
Leaning in, Bud takes a deep breath right next to the curve of my neck. “You smell good,” he says, intruding upon my personal space.
I’m taller than him with my heels on, which makes me have to look down on the tiny man.
“Really,” I glare at him, “is that supposed to make me want you now? Make me change my mind and decide to let you take me home so I can spread my legs for you? I don’t think so, buddy.”
I take a step away from the table and continue to scan the room, looking for Gwen. Unfortunately, Bud still persists, stepping up beside me, he tries to grab a hold of my waist. Shaking off his grasp, I shoot him a look daring him to try it again.
“Don’t be so cold,” Bud slams down his now empty glass on the table. “Pretending like you don’t want it. If you’re half as easy as your friend was last night with Tom,” he says, reaching out to try and touch me again, “I shouldn’t have to try hard at all.”
I honestly can’t believe what I am hearing. First, the jerk has the audacity to think I can easily be picked up. Then, he insults Gwen, thus obviously insulting me further. I know her shenanigans aren’t always honorable, but damn it, no one gets to say so except me.
“Excuse me, but I think it’s about time you go to hell. While you’re at it, make sure and take your friend with you.”
Grabbing my coat and purse, I turn to leave.
I’ll find Gwen wherever she is, but there is no way in hell I am standing here and listening to this for one more second.
Bud grabs my arm and swings me back around.
I glance down at his hand, holding me in place with a tight grip, then look back up again with a hateful stare.
He smiles mischievously. “Don’t be like that. We can take it slow … if that’s what you want.” He licks his lips and moves closer, his voice is now a grotesque whisper between the two of us. “Trust me, baby, I know you’ll like it.”
He grabs me around the waist, and tries to grind himself against me, cornering me up against the table.
“Let me go,” I manage. I push off him in a desperate attempt to break free and make a run for it, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’ll leave you begging for more. Come on, you know you want to, baby. I know you haven’t had anything as good as me.” Bud tightens his grasp, leaving me barely any room for escape.
I yell, “I said let me go! Stop it!”