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He is.
“What’s happening?” I manage to remember how to breathe.
“There’s gonna be a fight.”
“What?” I gasp, both delighted and horrified. “Like a bar fight? Like fists flying and bottles smashing?”
He shoots me an irritated look. “Down.”
“What?”
“Ruby. Down.”
He remembered my nameis my one idiotic thought before his hand closes on mine and I’m jerked down to the ground right as a chair sails across the room and smashes into the wall.
I let out a scream and clap my hands to my ears. “What do we do?” I yell.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen this man, but I trust him with my life.
“Crawl,” he orders. “To the door.”
Charlie makes it look easy, so I follow his lead. Together, on hands and knees, we shimmy through peanuts and splash through puddles of beer. I should be terrified, but I’m not. Adrenaline flows through my veins.
Above us, I can hear fists flying, the hard crunch of bone on flesh. Cheers. And jeers. Curses.
“I’m crawling through beer!” I shout, overjoyed at the riotous turn the night has taken.
I yelp as someone kicks me in the shin, and I escape a near miss with a boot crushing the top of my hand. But I can’t stop laughing. I can’t stop smiling. It all seems so surreal and I’m right in the middle of it.
But we can’t get out. The crowd is thick and jostling and we’re stuck.
Charlie hisses, “Fuck it.”
I look over at him, a question on the tip of my tongue, but I never get to ask it.
We’re not on the ground anymore. Suddenly, I’m in his arms, pressed tight against his broad chest—hard, hot muscle—and he’s rushing us out of the bar. I feel his muscles constrict, the pump of his heart as he holds me close. Both sensations send an electrical current rushing through me. His closeness has my head floating, a dizzy feeling I want to hang on to.
I like it.
It’s dangerous.
The door slams open, and then Charlie’s setting me on my feet in the dark parking lot.
I try to ignore the pang in my chest at being separated from him.
We both look at each other.
“Wow.” I tuck disheveled hair behind my ears. My legs are shaky, my heartbeat a kick drum in my chest. “My hero.”
I mean it. He’s like my knight in dusty cowboy boots.
Annoyance flickers across his face. “You were takin’ too long.”
“Something tells me you do this every Friday night.” I blush. “Fighting, I mean, not sweeping up strange girls in your arms.”
He gives a brisk nod. “You’re not wrong.”
“I’ve never been in a bar fight before.”
