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I release him. He shakes his hand vigorously. "Bitch." I smirk, malice still simmering in my glare.
Grant hasn't moved in the few seconds the entire thing went down. I glance over at him suddenly realizing how this must have looked. Shit. I give him a tentative half smile, knowing my uncontrollable anger can be a lot for anyone to witness. Guess I'll need more boxing lessons.
"Uh, you guys are cut off for the rest of the day," Grant says, his voice authoritative, not allowing any room for them to argue. "If you have a problem with that, you can talk to the manager. But I'm not serving you. C'mon, Lana."
"Are you serious?" a bigger, oafish guy bellows in disbelief.
We drive off before they can make a scene. Or more of one.
"I'm--"
"Are you okay?" he asks, interrupting my apologizing that he had to see that side of me. But not for almost ripping the guy's thumb off.
"Oh yeah," I say dismissively. "I used to work at a dive bar. That was nothing, trust me."
"Nothing? I don't know if I'd say that. But you may have ruined his golf game, which is the least he deserves." He looks over at me with a crooked smile and admiration in his eyes. "You are unlike any girl I've ever met."
"I guess I should've included that I was mean as part of my bio."
Grant laughs loudly, earning an annoyed scowl from golfers within earshot. Golf really is the dumbest sport.
"Please don't ever change," he says, gaining control over his laughter as we roll to a stop. Then he leans over just before we exit to serve the approaching golfers, his breath tickling my neck. "And I really can't wait to kiss you."
"I'm still sober," I tell him, my cheeks blossoming from the huge smile on my face.
We spend the rest of the afternoon asking each other a thousand questions about our likes, dislikes, favorite books, movies we loved, foods we hate, even wishes made blowing out birthday candles. It was like we were on a first date ... at work ... if I dated. But he never does kiss me, no matter how many times he could have, and I wanted him to.
After I'm done changing in the locker room, Cary asks me to join him in his office. "I heard about what happened at the twelfth hole."
"Omigod, I'm so, so sorry," I say in a rush before he can continue. Panic overtaking me, and apparently my mouth too. "Is he okay? Did I break his thumb? I know I shouldn't have assaulted a member, and I'm really sorry. I promise it'll never happen again."
"Lana," Cary says calmly. I press my lips together to keep from saying more. "I'm sorry this happened to you and I wanted to be sure you're okay."
"What?" I ask in confusion. "Me?"
"Yes. We take what happened very seriously. No one, I don't care if he's a member or the President of the United States, has any right to lay his hands on you. I want you to feel safe working here. That member has had his privileges revoked temporarily, so that he understands that his behavior will not be tolerated on our premises."
My mouth drops open. I finally utter, somewhat coherently, "You're worried about me?"
He smiles warmly. "You're part of the KCC family. Of course I am."
"Thank you," I say. "I'm fine."
"Good. I'll see you on Friday then."
I'm still in shock when I walk out of his office and almost walk into Grant who is standing by the staff entrance.
"Thinking again?" he teases.
"Huh?" I ask, redirecting my attention. "Did you tell Cary about what happened?"
"Yeah. He needed to know. What happened wasn't okay, even if you did dislocate the guy's thumb. Which was pretty impressive, by the way. Besides, I wanted to be sure none of the other bartenders served those guys while they were here."
I've never had anyone stand up for me before, other than Tori and Nina. But they'd be right there with me, punching and clawing, not defending my honor.
I throw my arms around Grant's chest, because I'm too short to wrap them around his neck, and hug him, totally taking him by surprise. After the initial shock of my reaction wears off, he hugs me back, tight. "Thank you," I say, my voice muffled within his arms.
He squeezes me again before we both let go.
