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I pull my hand into my chest. Manners be damned, next time he does that, I'm slapping him.
I offer my most polite smile and shake my head. "No thank you. I'm here with someone."
"Who?"
Fine. I hate using this line, but it's the only thing that works on guys like this. "My boyfriend."
The guy takes a long, hard look at me. At my cleavage, mostly. That awkward, awful tension builds between my shoulder blades again.
What the hell? This is supposed to feel good. A hot guy is checking me out. A hot guy wants to press his body up against mine in time with the music.
"Your boyfriend lets you go out like that?" he asks.
"Believe it or not, I have this funny thing called free will." I step backward. "And I don't let guys tell me what to wear."
"Your boyfriend sounds like a pussy."
"I'll let him know your feelings." Okay. The bar thing isn't working. Time for the nuclear option. I make my way to the women's restroom.
The guy follows. "I only want to talk."
"And I don't."
I take a quick step, but, even with my heels, I've got short legs and this guy is all kinds of tall. He's faster than I am.
He grabs my wrist. The right. I shake it off. No slapping necessary. Yet.
"You don't have to be so rude," he says.
Obviously, I do, because he's not taking the hint. I turn so I'm facing the asshole. Anger flares in my gut. I manage to hold my tongue. There are merits to telling this guy what he can do with that grabby hand, but it seems silly to cause a scene. It's easier to slip away with a careful excuse. No conflict necessary.
"Excuse me, ladies' room," I say.
He reaches for me again. Left wrist this time. Okay, that's it. I pull my hand free and go to slap him.
Someone stops me. His hand closes around my tricep. There's something right about it. Something magical.
It's Drew. Drew's hand is tight around my arm. Drew is touching me.
He looks at the asshole guy. "Can I help you?"
The guy looks at me with disbelief. "This is your boyfriend?"
I throw Drew a please play along look. "Yes. And we're very busy tonight."
"Is this guy bothering you?" Drew asks.
"It's fine."
"It doesn't look fine." Drew's eyes narrow. He stares down the guy. "You followed her across the dance floor."
He was watching me?
"We were having a conversation," the guy says.
"You grabbed her. Do it again and it will be the last time you ever touch anyone or anything beautiful," Drew says.
The guy holds Drew's stare. Trying out some kind of intimidation and failing miserably. I almost feel bad for him. Idiot has no clue what he's in for.
