Crazy Girl(15)

When I tossed my card on the bar, the bartender quickly grabbed it. “Security,” Wren relented.

I flashed my gaze to him. “What?”

“I’m contracted by the government to train people in high-level security.”

It was something. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a steady breath. He actually answered the question. Finally. But why did it take something as extreme as me leaving to get the answer? “I don’t even care.” I snorted a laugh. Holding my hand up, I added, “I don’t know what your deal is, but this whole night has been a joke. I don’t have time for…this…” I motioned my hand around as I searched for an appropriate word, but when I couldn’t find one, I settled with, “bullshit.”

“Why do you care so much about what I do?”

The bartender slid my receipt to sign along with my card, his stare darting between me and Wren, assessing if there was a situation he needed to keep an eye on. I gave him a half smirk in an attempt to let him know, despite how heated things seemed to be, it was nothing to worry about. I plunked my purse on the stool as I signed. “I don’t care,” I informed Wren as I whipped the pen with loud scratching sounds as I wrote. “You could be a ditch digger for all I care. I just don’t see why you wouldn’t talk about it.”

“Because I didn’t want to,” he snapped.

Shoving my card in my purse, not bothering to return it to my wallet, I held my hands up and gave another short laugh. “I don’t have time for games, Wren.”

“Neither do I.”

Funny, because that seemed to be all he was playing.

“Look, no hard feelings here. I just…can’t.”

“Can’t what?” He held a hand out in question.

Shaking my head, I fisted my hand at my side. “Can’t deal with another man wasting my time,” I blurted. “I don’t need another man to figure out. I’m done with liars, and users, and…” motioning my hand at him, “men who suffer from apparent commitment phobia.” With that, I walked out, lowering my head when I realized everyone at the bar had been watching our farewell and they probably all thought I was a lunatic. As I hurried out, I tripped just outside the door and dropped my purse, the contents spilling everywhere on the sidewalk. Did I mention the night had been an epic failure? Dropping to my knees, I quickly grabbed everything, chucking it in my bag, praying no one from inside saw me trip. This was humiliating. The mace was the last item I picked up, and I groaned when I realized it was leaking. There was a trashcan nearby so I carried the tiny dripping bottle over and tossed it, shaking my hands to dry them as I headed for my car.

What a nightmare that had been. Jeez. Was this the dating world now? Was this what I had to look forward to? The thought, for some reason, hit me hard; a wave of hopelessness slammed into me, making my chest tighten, causing me to tear up. Sad, desperate thoughts ricocheted through my mind like: I’ll never find love again. Swiping at my face to wipe away a rogue tear, I cleared my throat and braced my back. “You will not cry, Hannah,” I scolded myself. I would not be that woman. I would not feel sorry for myself.

I was almost to my car when my vision blurred, my left eye burning. I rubbed at it, which only made it worse and made both eyes water more. Unable to see, I stopped and leaned against a car to brace myself while lifting my shirt and dabbing at my eyes. I didn’t want to use my scarf because I knew my eyeliner would stain it. What the hell was going on?

“Damn,” I groaned when the burning sensation worsened. I couldn’t see and my eyeballs felt like they were rolling in my sockets.

What was happening to me?

“Oh my God,” I cried.

The mace.

I’d just rubbed mace in my eyes and blinded myself in a dark parking lot in the middle of the night. This couldn’t be happening to me. Dropping down, I sat on the concrete leaning my back against the car. I attempted to stop using my hands and tried using one arm to clean my face as I dug in my purse for my cell. When I found it, I realized I couldn’t call anyone because I couldn’t see the screen to dial. My heart pounded in my chest, my body flamed with heat as I wondered if I could just rip my eyes out and end this misery. I was that desperate. Would it be that bad if I did?





Mace in the Face





Eventually the stares of the fellow bar patrons eased away, and I was able to finish the last of my drink without feeling watched. Man…she was nuts. I’d seen some real Mad Hatters in my day, but she took the cake.

She’d already paid the tab, something I found pretty damn attractive before she lost her shit on me, but I threw some cash on the bar, deciding to tip a little extra since we’d made a scene. When I walked outside, the cool night air hit my face as I trudged back to my truck. What a waste of a night this had been. I was just about to hit the remote start to my truck, when I saw something from the corner of my eye. I slowed my stride and honed in on it, stopping in my tracks when I realized what exactly I was looking at.

It was Hannah.

She was sitting on her ass, leaned up against a Honda, her hands covering her face. Was she crying? With her eyes covered and the way she was sitting, she couldn’t see me when I scrunched my face as I battled with myself whether I should check on her. She’d made it pretty clear she didn’t like me based on our limited interaction together—would she tear my head off if I approached?