Barely Breathing(2)

“Gimme that, you *,” I muttered, pulling the broken bottle out of the guy’s trembling hand.

I put it on the table and grabbed each of the two fighters by the collars of their shirts.

“Get your asses out of here,” I said as I dragged them toward the door. “Go spend your lunch money getting wasted somewhere else.”

Two of my bouncers, Cecil and Dan, approached. They each took one punk and finished dragging them to the door. I looked back and saw that another bouncer was sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan.

With that fire out, I decided to patrol the outside of the building. If nothing else, I needed some fresh air. Wiping the asses of adults all the time was f*cking exhausting.



Vivian

Eric raised his glass in the air and smiled, his eyes full of meaning as they met mine.

“To new beginnings,” he murmured.

He clinked his glass against mine and raised it to his lips, tossing back a big drink of the amber liquid. I sipped my wine, my heart hammering in my chest. I had a very good feeling about him.

Could it really happen so quickly? This blind date was about the hundredth I’d gone on since accepting a job at a family law firm in New York City. I usually knew right away whether I’d met someone who’d make a good friend or someone who I should draft up a restraining order for at the end of the date.

Never had I met a man I could see a second, third and fourth date with. Until now.

Eric Masterson checked every box on my list for the perfect man. He was a good listener with a great sense of humor, had a great career as a stock broker and was very easy on the eyes. With dark, close-cropped hair, an athletic build and warm brown eyes, he’d drawn a second look from the women at the table next to us when we’d arrived. For the first time since arriving in the Big Apple ten months ago, I actually hoped for a goodnight kiss at the end of a date.

“So, Vivian,” Eric started.

“Viv,” I reminded him. “My friends call me Viv.”

“I’m hoping to be more than a friend.”

I felt a goofy grin spreading across my face. “Well, you’re off to a great start.”

“Another drink?”

I sighed and looked at my watch. “I wish I could, but I have an early hearing.”

I liked setting up dates for Thursday nights so I could beg off in the name of work when I needed to, but in this case, it was because I actually had to. It was after eleven, and my alarm relentlessly sounded at six every weekday.

Eric’s face fell. “Oh. I thought—”

“I really do have to get up early,” I said, putting a hand on top of his on the table. “Can we get together again sometime soon?”

His expression brightened. “Yeah? How soon? Wanna share a cab?”

“Sure. If we’re going in the same direction.”

He signed the check and tucked his credit card back inside his wallet. “What if we both go in the direction of my place?”

I bit the inside of my lip, forcing myself not to let my defeat show. He thought he was getting laid tonight. That explained his enthusiasm.

Dating was the worst. THE. WORST. I needed to take a month off of it and watch chick flicks and eat takeout in my pajamas. I was persistent and damned if I was a quitter. People at work even called me tenacious. But dating required a streak of masochism and I was over it. For now, anyway.

“I think I live in the other direction,” I said, getting up from the table. “Thanks for a nice evening, Eric.”

I didn’t even have to turn around to know he was behind me, pushing his way past people to catch up. I’d just pushed open the front door to leave when I felt a hand grabbing my wrist.

“Vivian, don’t go.”

I glared at him and pulled away. “I have to work in the morning. I need to get home.”

The cool spring air on my face was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the crowded club. I headed for the curb to hail a cab.

“What the hell just happened?” Eric demanded from behind me.

I turned. His easy smile was gone. Now his expression was pissed.

“I’m looking for more than just sex,” I said, crossing my arms. “I thought you knew that when we set up this date.”

“Yeah, well . . . maybe you shouldn’t have flirted so hot and heavy over dinner, then.”

I felt my eyes bulge with indignation. Stepping away from the curb, I approached Eric and pointed at his chest.

“I did no such thing, you *.”

He rolled his eyes and smirked at me. “Please, Vivian. The skirt? The way you licked your lips and played with your hair?”

My anger grew stronger, clouding my better judgment. I grimaced at Eric with disgust and took another step toward him. “What? Seriously? Because I’m wearing a skirt? I’m a twenty-eight-year old woman with a pretty decent vocabulary. If I wanted you to f*ck me, I would have said, ‘Fuck me, Eric’. Instead, I’m saying f*ck you.”

I rarely lost my cool, but the all too prevalent male mindset that a woman in a skirt was desperate to be bedded was just too infuriating to be ignored.

“You’re hot when you’re angry,” Eric said, wiggling his brows at me.

I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t worth my time. I was turning back toward the curb when he reached out and pulled my cell phone from my hand.