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She turned and looked up at him. He was giving her that intensely focused look again. Yeah, he was young and brash, and clearly hadn’t figured himself out yet, but when he said he would protect her, she believed him. She felt safe.
With a smile, she set her hand on his cheek. “Okay. Let’s go in.”
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~oOo~
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Apparently, Tuesdaynight at the Dawghouse was line-dancing night. They had lessons in the evening and an emcee calling dances until eleven. And Jake enjoyed line dancing. That surprising little factoid utterly delighted her.
They’d been at dinner when the lessons had happened, but Petra had a degree in dance; obviously she knew how to line dance. She didn’t know all of the dances well, but a lot of the moves were variations on basic dance steps, and what she didn’t know she’d pick up quickly. As for the music, she wasn’t a particular fan of country music, but generally speaking, she enjoyed any music she could move to.
The bar was hopping for a Tuesday night, with a healthy number of people—several dozen, anyway—on the floor, currently doing a dance she didn’t recognize but was obviously built on the cha-cha.
“Do you want a drink?” Jake asked at her ear.
They’d finished two bottles of wine over dinner. The rich food and two hours of talk had tempered her buzz, but she did not want to get truly drunk, nor did she want Jake to. There would be no drunk driving on this date. Especially no drunk Harley riding.
“Let’s dance first. Is there a coat check?” Her phone and wallet were in her jacket pocket, because she hated having a purse with her on a night out, so she’d much rather check her jacket than leave it at a table while they danced.
“Yeah, up front. I’ll take it over.”
“Thanks.”
She moved her ID and credit cards to her jeans pocket. Then Jake helped her slip out of her jacket—somebody had taught him to be a gentleman—and, with a smile, headed off on the errand.
Petra leaned against the wooden rail, like a place to tie horses, that framed most of the dance floor and watched. There were some excellent dancers out there. More people just having a good time, or getting dragged into the line by their date, but a few honestly good dancers.
A hand at the small of her back made her realize she’d been dancing in place. She turned and smiled—but it wasn’t Jake she faced. A very tall man in about his forties, wearing a brown cowboy shirt and a black felt Stetson, grinned down at her. “Come on, little lady, I’ll take you out there and get that cute little bootie really goin’.”
Seriously? There were so many things wrong with that line she didn’t know where to start. But she shoved his hand off of her—violation!—and picked one. “Little lady? Are you serious? What a cliché.”
He frowned and bent low to get in her face. “Better close your mouth, honey, before somebody decides to fill it up for you.”
And now she was afraid. Showing weakness would make things worse, so she couldn’t look around and see if Jake was coming back yet. He wasn’t nearly as big as this guy, who had to be six-six or more and was built like a lumberjack, but still she felt like she’d be safe if Jake were with her.
Until he was, however, all she could do was stare up at the guy and hope.
Scenting victory, the cowboy grinned and leaned even closer. “That’s better. No sense gettin’ high and mighty about it, honey. If you don’t want attention, don’t dress like you do.” He reached out and hooked a finger in a cutout of her top. At her cleavage.
“Get your hand off me.”Where was Jake?
And then he was there. His hand slammed over the cowboy’s where it had her top. “You want to back off, asshole. Now.”
Without removing his hand, the cowboy turned, looked down at Jake—and laughed.
Jake drove his left fist—she caught a glint of metal, but he didn’t wear a ring on that hand—into the cowboy’s gut and followed it with a knee in his groin.
She’d never seen a man groin a guy before, but damn, it was extremely effective. The cowboy went down like he’d been shot.
Their immediate area went still, as everyone around took notice. But the dancing didn’t stop, and the rest of the bar continued on. Glancing warily around like he was preparing to fight everyone in the vicinity, Jake drew Petra to the side and put her back against a post. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” He was wearing brass knuckles on his left hand. She’d never seen brass knuckles in person before.
“Stay here. I don’t know if there’s more trouble coming.” Again he scanned the area, but people around them were already losing interest. If he expected a bar brawl, it looked like it wasn’t going to happen. Unless the cowboy went for round two.
That looked less likely every minute; the cowboy was still trying to get back to his feet. Jake had really hurt him.
