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“I don’t like it.”
“You just said you never played it.”
“I mean, I imagine I wouldn’t like it. You actually like it?”
He shrugged. “I love it, it’s the only game that I’ve ever kicked Lucien’s ass at. He wins fucking everything else—chess, battleship, you name it.”
The lower half of my face was taken over by a stupid smile. “Has it occurred to you maybe he let you win?”
He scowled. “I hope not, that’s the source of all my confidence.”
I laughed, unable to hold it back and he smirked. Clearly triumphant. It occurred to me that making me laugh had been his goal. That surprised me. His goal before recently had been to bother me as much as possible and get the upper hand in every conversation.
There was a commotion on the other end of the room. Duran glanced over and I leaned around him to look. The bartender was arguing with the group of men, who were clearly drunk. I shook my head, rolling my eyes, and sat back.
“Anyway, where were we?” he said.
“It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”
He emptied his glass, eyes narrowed in consideration. I glanced over his shoulder again, the arguing from the group of men growing louder. I was usually at bars on my own so drunk men set off my alarm bells. Slowly, I became aware that he was looking at me, anticipating an answer.
“What?” I asked.
Behind us, two of the men pushed away from the bar and moved our way. I shrank back and Duran turned, his lips thinning. His shoulders went back and something that looked like anger flashed through his gaze. I shrank back, glancing behind me at the doorway.
“Let’s just go,” I said quickly. “We can sit outside.”
He shook his head once. The leader of the group, a man about Duran’s age, paused between our chairs. I could smell the vodka on his breath as his eyes raked over my body. Out of nowhere, a wave of shame flooded me. So intense I automatically squeezed my thighs together and put my hand over my breasts.
“Fuck off,” said Duran calmly.
The man’s head swung around. Until he was inches from Duran’s face.
“You taking this girl upstairs? Gonna give her a good time, huh?” he slurred.
Duran’s lip curled and his eyes flashed.
“I’ll give you to the count of five to fuck off,” he said.
The man laughed, along with his four companions. Burning with embarrassment, I slipped off the opposite side of the stool and ducked around him. Hoping to slip out the door in hopes Duran would follow me.
The ringleader’s hand shot out and I whirled, ripping my wrist away.
“You gonna let me have a go when he’s done?” he laughed.
Before I could respond, Duran stood and seized him by the collar. I squeaked, backing against the wall. The other men surged forward, but not before Duran yanked the man close, kneed him in the lower belly, and punched his face hard enough to send him tumbling into the next table.
I shrieked and clapped my hands over my mouth.
Duran flexed his hand.
“Fuck,” he said.
The four other men rushed him. He took a step back and there was a sharp click. Everyone froze.
Duran had his gun out, leveled at the men. Even in their drunken state, they knew better than to keep going.
“I said fuck off,” he said evenly.
