Chapter 8
EIGHT
JESSE
“Never have I ever been arrested,” I mumble under my breath.
Hell, I’ve never even been this far into a police station. The last time I was in one, I’m pretty sure it was part of a field trip in elementary school. They gave us little sheets of paper with our fingerprints and mugshots on them.
Somehow, I don’t think this set of fingerprints—or my mug shot—is going to end up on my mom’s refrigerator.
“What was that?” the officer taking my belt buckle and shoes behind the counter asks.
“Nothing.” I sigh and mumble to myself. “Never have I ever been such an idiot.”
“Sir, you’re going to have to speak louder, and enunciate, if you want something.”
“I don’t want anything.” Besides maybe going back in time a few hours and suggesting Mindy and I go somewhere other than my bar. “I’m just telling myself what an idiot I’ve been.” He squints at me for a second like he’s deciding whether I’m drunker than I look, then goes back to typing.
Never have I ever been so damn stupid.
The station smells like old coffee and something I don’t want to think about too hard. The overhead lights buzz faintly overhead. My knuckles are sore and my jaw aches where that asshole clipped me.
There’s dried blood on my sleeve that I’m hoping is his.
I still don’t fully understand how it spiraled so fast.
One second I was telling the guy to leave. The next he was swinging. Then I was swinging. Then security was there. Then police. Then I was being pulled back while he shouted that I “assaulted” him.
The last clear image in my head is Mindy.
Standing near the edge of the crowd.
Eyes wide.
Watching me get cuffed in my own bar.
The metal bit into my wrists. Not hard. Just enough to make it real.
I didn’t fight it.
I didn’t say much.
I just kept looking at her.
She didn’t look scared of me.
She looked stunned.
And that might be worse.
The officer finishes processing and gestures toward the holding area. “Have a seat.”
The bench is cold. The room louder than it looks. A handful of other guys occupy the space — varying degrees of annoyed, embarrassed, or still half drunk.
I sit.
Across from me, a guy in a wrinkled button-down is muttering to himself.
Public intoxication, I’d guess.
Next to him, a red-eyed dude with a split lip looks like he lost the second half of whatever argument he started.
He nods at me.
“You?”
“Bar fight,” I say simply.
He huffs a laugh. “Tourist?”
“Bar owner.”
His eyebrows lift. “You fought in your own place?”
“I didn’t plan on it.” I rub my jaw. “It’s never happened before.”
Button-Down squints at me. “You start it?”
“No.”
Red Eyes leans forward. “Who did?”
“A guy wouldn’t leave a woman alone,” I say. The memory makes my jaw tighten again. “He kept touching her. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Red Eyes nods slowly. “Yeah. That’d do it.”
Button-Down points a wobbly finger. “Always gotta look out for people.”
“That was my thinking,” I mutter.
We sit in silence for a moment.
Then Red Eyes says, “What’d she think?”
I exhale.
“The woman he was harassing? She seemed grateful. Glad we had her back. As for my…”
What would I call Mindy exactly. My date? The woman who changed my whole damn life in one night.
“Your woman?” he prompts.
I nod. “That’s what is less clear.”
They both look at me.
“She your girl?” Button-Down asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
That earns a laugh from Red Eyes.
“You fought for her. Sounds like she might be.”
I shake my head. “It was our first date.”
They both pause.
“Man,” Red Eyes says. “You move fast.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Then again, it kind of was.
We had sex in my office.
I think I’m halfway in love with her. I was ready to tell her just that. Or, at the very least to beg her to let me see her again.
And then I threw a punch.
“I didn’t lose control,” I say quietly, more to myself than them. “Not until he went for her again.”
“There’s losing control recklessly.” Red Eyes says. “Then, there’s deciding enough’s enough.”
Button-Down nods emphatically. “You can’t let that slide.”
“I know,” I say.
But that doesn’t stop the doubt.
I’ve built my life around being steady. Around not escalating. Around reading a room before it explodes.
And tonight?
I let it explode.
I replay it in my head.
The shove.
The swing.
The crack of knuckles.
The way Mindy’s hand flew to her mouth.
Did she see someone dangerous?
Or someone standing up for her?
Red Eyes shifts. “You worried she thinks you’re a hothead. And that she won’t like.”
These guys are awfully wise and insightful for a pair picked up on having too much to drink. “Something like that.”
He shrugs. “Depends on how you handled it.”
Button-Down nods. “You call her after?”
“I haven’t had a chance, exactly.” I let out a humorless laugh. “I was in handcuffs.”
They both grin at that.
The minutes drag.
A couple more guys get brought in — one loudly complaining about “unfair odds,” another still arguing with an officer about who threw the first punch in a different casino.
Vegas does not lack for stories.
Eventually, Red Eyes leans back and says, “You know what matters?”
“What.”
“You didn’t hesitate.”
I glance at him.
“Most guys talk big,” he says. “When it comes down to it, they freeze. You didn’t.”
Button-Up nods. “Women love a man who takes action.”
That sits heavy in my chest.
I think of Mindy in the bathroom mirror earlier tonight. Of the way she stepped up to that creep without waiting for backup. Of the way she told him no.
She didn’t hesitate either.
“I hope she knows that,” I say quietly.
Red Eyes smirks. “If she’s worth your time, she will.”
The holding cell door buzzes.
An officer steps up. “Jesse?”
I stand. “Yeah.”
“You made bail.” The officer gestures toward the desk. “Let’s go.”
I follow him out, heart pounding harder now than it did in the holding cell.
I flex my sore knuckles as we walk. The adrenaline is gone, replaced by a dull ache and a heavier one in my chest.
I expect to see my sister.
Or my mom.
Maybe even one of the guys from the bar.
I do not expect to see Mindy.
But there she is. The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
She’s standing in the waiting area, arms folded loosely, still in her ridiculous accidental-biker outfit, cowboy hat gone but confidence very much intact.
For a second I just stop.
She looks tired. Not shaken. Not furious.
Just so damn beautiful and present.
The officer hands me my wallet and keys in a plastic tray. I sign where he tells me to sign. My brain is somewhere else entirely.
With her.
When I finally step forward, she unfolds her arms.
“I—” I start. “Mindy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into—”
She closes the distance and kisses me.
Not tentative.
Not angry.
It’s full of heart and passion.
Strong enough, it steals the rest of my apology straight out of my mouth.
When she pulls back, her hands stay curled in the front of my shirt.
“Never have I ever,” she says softly, “been so impressed by a man.”
My brain takes a second to catch up.
“Impressed?”
“You tried to de-escalate that the entire time,” she continues. “You told him to leave. You gave him options. You didn’t go looking for a fight.”
I blink. “You’re not… mad?”
“Mad?” She shakes her head. “He put his hands on me. You stopped him.”
Her voice doesn’t tremble. It doesn’t dramatize. It’s calm and clear.
“I was worried you thought I lost control,” I admit.
“You didn’t,” she says firmly. “You were controlled until you couldn’t be anymore.”
The tension that’s been sitting between my shoulders all night loosens.
“I talked to the officer,” she adds. “They’re not filing charges. Security footage showed exactly what happened.”
I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Good,” I murmur.
She tilts her head slightly, studying me.
“You know what I saw?” she says.
“What?”
“A man who doesn’t freeze when someone crosses a line.”
That hits deeper than the punch ever did.
“I don’t want to be that guy,” I say quietly. “The one who escalates everything.”
“You’re not,” she replies. “You’re the one who protects.”
The word lands heavy and warm in my chest.
She steps closer again, lowering her voice.
“Never have I ever brought a man to my new home.”
My brows lift. “Your home.”
“My actual house,” she clarifies, though the small smile on her lips suggests she enjoys my reaction. “You didn’t think I was going to let our date end in a holding cell, did you?”
I can’t help it — I grin.
“I like the sound of that,” I admit.
“Good.”
She reaches for my hand.
“Come on.”
The early morning air hits cool and crisp as we step outside.
The sky is starting to pale at the edges, dark blue melting toward pink. The chaos of the night feels distant out here, softened by sunrise.
I glance around, expecting her car.
Instead, I see a bike.
Not just any bicycle on two wheels.
It’s a tandem bike.
I gape at it.
She follows my gaze, biting back a smile.
I shake my head. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m absolutely not.”
It’s parked neatly by the curb, two helmets resting on the handlebars.
“You planned this?” I ask.
“I called Kathryn when you got taken in,” she says. “She handled the bail. I handled transportation.”
I laugh under my breath. “A tandem.”
“Well,” she says, picking up one of the helmets and handing it to me, “I figured this was something neither of us have ever done.”
I look at the bike. Then at her.
“Never have I ever ridden a tandem.”
“Neither have I.”
She steps closer, fastening her own helmet strap under her chin.
“We’re going to have to work together,” she says lightly. “You can’t steer this alone.”
The metaphor isn’t subtle.
I don’t mind.
I set my hands on her waist, pulling her gently back toward me before she can climb on.
She looks up at me, eyes bright in the early light.
I kiss her. Slow. Deep.
Grateful she’s still here. Grateful she wants me here.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers.
“Never have I ever fallen in love on the first date,” I murmur.
Her breath catches.
“I’m not saying that I have. But,” I add, brushing my thumb along her jaw, “I just might be.”
Her smile is soft. “Then we’d better keep pedaling and see if that’s where we’re headed.”