Black Lies(54)
“Asshole homeowner. Said I left last week with only half the grass cut.”
“Did you?” The sharp look he gave me answered the question. I raised my hands. “Sorry.” I glanced at the bartender. “Could I get some ice?” That, the man provided, a few handfuls dumped in the bottom of a garbage bag. I twisted up the package and pressed it gently against his mouth. “How did that lead to this?”
“The dickhead threatened to tell the rest of the neighborhood.” He shrugged. “So I punched him.”
I blinked, the intelligence level behind this story staggering in its immaturity. “Why didn’t you just walk away?”
He pushed away the ice, worked his jaw from side to side while glaring at me through watery eyes. “I need work. Need cash.” He tried to reach for a beer that was no longer there. “From someone who’s never worked a day in her life, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
Never worked a day in her life. It’s true. I moved from Stanford to a part-time job to the life of a pampered retiree. My full-time job being Brant and now Lee. Lee’s finish to the sentence came with a side of disgust, as if my lack of a day job made me less of a person. It was something Brant had never mentioned, and I suddenly wondered if it was something he thought. Emotions and feelings often got hidden. Pushed down until they found another outlet to creep back up into.
I moved the ice to his lip, his eyes flaring as the cold compress hit the open cut.
“Shut up,” I whispered. “Take it like a man.”
He leaned into my hand, the smell of alcohol and grass and dirt and man invading my senses.
“Mind giving up that seat princess?”
Lee’s eyes flicked back open as I broke contact, turned to see a man behind me, his tattooed arm wrapped around a woman I’d politely describe as hard. The stranger’s other hand gripped the edge of my stool, as if he was contemplating giving it one firm yank that would flip me onto the germ-infested floor. My eyes took in the bar, bodies filling the small space, the landscape unbroken by the rough man before me. I was the only break in this scene, in my linen pants and Jimmy Choos. The bag on my arm that cost more than half the vehicles in the parking lot. It was stupid for me to come here, on a Friday night at midnight. Stupid of me to walk into an atmosphere of alcohol and rough men and expect to not be noticed, pushed around. Put in my place.
I slid off the stool, my heels finding the floor, my hand catching the bar. “Sure.” I smiled, the man’s face unchanging, his delight at gaining a seat hidden by scruff and dirt and tough.
“Sit back down.” A growl of a statement from Lee, who lifted his head high enough to catch my gaze. Stared at me with an order in his eyes.
“I should be leaving anyway,” I said, my voice low enough not to carry. God, I didn’t need this. Drunk Lee, who’s already bloody from one stupid fight, defending my honor in a place I should have been intelligent enough to avoid.
Lee lurched to his feet, swaying slightly as he turned to face the man behind me. A man who, unfortunately, hadn’t budged, still only a step away, girlfriend still suction-cupped to his side. “What the f*ck’s your problem?”
I pulled on his arm. “Lee.” A word that earned me a moment, a glance in which everything froze and he looked at me and I saw everything he couldn’t say in that one moment.
He couldn’t buy me cars. Couldn’t drown me in diamonds and buildings and trips to Dubai. Couldn’t even pay for the beers filling his stomach. But this, this was one thing he could do. He could stand, fight, bleed for me. This, something that Brant would never do. A situation our alternative life would have never put ourselves in. This was Lee’s world. Here he was king. Here he would slay the tattooed dragon and be my hero. His eyes burned the air between us and I let out a shaky breath. Released his arm and sank back onto the highly contested stool.
“You guys ain’t drinking. Make room for someone who is.” In two sentences I saw yellowed teeth, a sneer I would cross the street to avoid, and a tightening of Lee’s entire body. I saw his punch telegraphed a million ways from Sunday. Had a moment of admiration at the flex of his back muscles when he lunged forward, a right hook missing my insulter by a good two feet, the man leaning back and easily avoiding the punch.
I closed my eyes. Couldn’t see any more. Pushed off the stool as the smack of fist against flesh sounded in the loud space. A space that suddenly fell silent, the push of the crowd inward as a dozen bodies quieted and strained for a better view. I opened my eyes in time to see Lee stagger forward and land a punch, the man’s head snapping back in an unnatural fashion. I surged forward, plowing between the two, my eyes catching ahold of the other woman in this equation. She snapped a wad of gum and looked away, bee lining for my open stool, her concern for these men nonexistent as long as her seat was secure.