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One of the girls around me put her hand on my arm, trying to get my attention again. I couldn’t remember her name—most of the girls who had been trying to get with me before I’d left were gone from town, or married now, and these women were all younger, college students, or perhaps the younger siblings of classmates—too young for me at the time but now ready to try their game.
Billie had already tried, though, and she’d won. She’d won it all.
I had to get some fresh air, take a damn minute to myself. Between my frustration over Billie and all these people trying to talk over one another to get me to look at them I felt like I was in some kind of fish bubble. “Excuse me ladies,” I said, sliding out of the booth past them. “I’ll be back.”
I probably wouldn’t be but, y’know, it wasn’t any business of theirs.
I headed for the bathroom, intending just to take a minute in there to clear my head. Or maybe—there was a back door near the bathrooms, wasn’t there? Maybe I’d step out back for a minute and let the cool, clear night air help me out.
To my surprise, I saw Billie slipping out from behind the bar and head towards the bathrooms as well. Maybe I could intercept her on her way back, ask how she was doing? Talk with her properly for a minute?
No, I told myself firmly. I wasn’t going to give into temptation. Billie didn’t want anything to do with me. I’d told her that if she wasn’t interested, to not respond to the letter, and she hadn’t. And then yesterday she had been polite but almost—unpleasantly shocked to see me. She’d clearly been uncomfortable. I’d be an idiot or an asshole to ignore the clear signs.
And then—then the guy who’d been flirting with her, one of the oil field hands, got up and started to follow her.
The hairs at the back of my neck stood up, my instincts telling me that something was off. Billie had been bold with me, all right, knowing what she wanted, but she had always been a responsible girl. It was part of why I’d been so surprised when she’d come on to me at the kegger, I hadn’t expected it after knowing her as someone who was so responsible and handled herself well. But she’d clearly weighed the pros and cons of being with me then, even if what she wanted was just a one night stand and I’d ended up being the one who wanted something more.
Long story short, Billie didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would fuck a guy while she was supposed to be working her shift. It was the kind of irresponsible that I didn’t expect from her. Maybe she’d changed in the last four years. I could be wrong. But something was telling me that this wasn’t right. The way the guy was moving after her like a predator on the prowl made something inside of me take notice and growl.
I followed, hoping that I wasn’t wrong and that I wasn’t going to end up embarrassing myself. Billie went into the women’s restroom, and the guy followed.
Worried I was about to make an ass of myself, I gently pushed open the door just wide enough that I could peer in and make sure it was all okay. I felt like a pervert, and my stomach clenched to think that I’d sunk so low that I was checking on a woman who didn’t even want anything to do with me.
Billie was turned away, and she must’ve caught sight of the guy in the mirror, because she jumped and whirled around. She started to say something, but the guy grabbed her, kissing her, before Billie shoved him away from her. “What the hell!?”
The guy made to grab her again and I saw fear flash across Billie’s face—and I fucking saw red. Before I could even think about it, I stormed in, grabbing the guy by the collar and shoving him until he was pinned against the far wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, hardly even recognizing my own voice.
I’d gotten into a lot of fights in high school. In college I’d slowed that down a bit. I’d learned that sometimes, it just wasn’t worth it to escalate things into the physical. But just because it had been a while didn’t mean that I didn’t know how to fight, and if nothing else the army had taught me even more about that. How not to fight for pride, or honor, or for kicks, or because you were angry, but to fight for your damn life.
This guy had nothing on me.
“Getting what I want, asshole.” The guy shoved me back. “She was begging for it.”
