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“Why don't you come with me, wingman?” he said. “There's plenty more hot ass in there.”
“Because – I don't feel much like clubbing anymore,” I said. “I want to make sure Casey gets home okay.”
“I can get home all by myself,” she snapped. “I've done it every single night for years. I don't need a chaperone or a babysitter, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, but you're bleeding and obviously hurt,” I said.
She stopped and looked at her hands, her eyes widening in surprise as if she just now realized they were bleeding. Casey rubbed at her knuckles as if suddenly realizing they were cut and bleeding had made them hurt. It was probably the adrenaline finally wearing off.
“Admit it, you like the crazy chicks,” Greg taunted.
Casey's eyes glazed over as she looked at me. There was so much pain in that one stare. I turned to Greg and shoved him back toward the club. He looked at me with wide eyes and a “what the fuck?” expression on his face.
“Leave. Now,” I told him.
“Why?” he asked, that shitty, condescending grin on his face. “Because you think you got a shot at fucking her?”
I didn't have to answer; my fist did the talking. I drew back and smashed it into his face – much like I'd done to Tommy earlier. Greg stumbled back, and I had to admit – feeling my fist smack into his nose felt good. Really good. Greg and I had been friends, once upon a time. But after seeing the way he'd acted in the club, and the things he said about Casey – I realized that we'd just become way too different to ever be friends again.
His head rocked back from the force of my punch and he staggered back a few steps. With a look of rage on his face, Greg got his bearing back and came at me. Greg was a big guy – bigger than Tommy – but he was no fighter. As he lumbered at me, I grabbed onto his arm before he could lay into me, stopping his punch before he'd even had a chance to throw it.
“Get lost, man,” I said, shoving him away again. “You don't want to fight me. We both know who wins if this goes down.”
Greg backed up and glared at me with white hot hate in his eyes. He spit a glob of blood out on the ground as he looked back at me, shaking his head.
“Fuck you, man,” he said, pointing his finger at me. “This ain't the end of this shit. Watch your back, Crane.”
He headed back toward the club, and I watched him go. I half expected Casey to be gone when I turned around to face her again. I was surprised though, to find her still there, watching me closely. Her jaw was still clenched, and she still had that look of angry defiance on her face, but at least she was still there.
“Think your macho bullshit is going to impress me?” she spat.
“Not at all. Not why I did it,” I said, running a hand through my hair as I smiled at her. “Impressing you is the last thing I'm trying to do. But, I'm glad to see that you stuck around.”
“I like seeing assholes getting punched in the face, what can I say?” she said. “Hey, something we have in common then,” I said.
Her lips pulled back in a wry, half smile.
“Oh, look, you can smile!” I teased. “I was starting to think you didn't have it in you and that your only expression was one of pure derision.”
“Shut up,” she said and actually laughed, playfully smacking me in the chest.
I pretended it hurt, holding a hand over the spot she'd smacked with a look of exaggerated pain on my face. Her smile widened, and she quickly looked down at the ground.
“I still don't need a chaperone,” she said. “I can get home just fine.”
“I know you can,” I said. “I get that you're a tough, strong woman. But, I thought we could maybe celebrate your newfound freedom.”
I looked around the street, looking for something, anything, that would help me spend a little more time with her. Finally, my eyes landed on a hole in the wall, twenty-four-hour diner. The place was probably a health hazard, but it was about the best I was going to do.
“Let's grab something to eat,” I said.
“Nah, I'll eat when I get home,” she replied.
“It's on me,” I said. “Come on. My treat. Call it my way of saying I'm sorry for everything that happened tonight.”
She hesitated, looking around, as if contemplating whether or not to turn me down. The wheels in her mind were spinning and I was afraid she was crafting some elaborate excuse about a sick mother she needed to get home to or something.
So, I decided not to give her the option. Taking her arm in mine, I started to pull her toward the diner. She hesitated, not walking with me at first, but then she gave in and walked beside me. For once, she didn't fight me.
