Desperately Seeking Epic(60)

When I followed her line of sight, I had to do a double take.

Clara.

It was Clara.

What the f*ck?

“Do you know her?” Mandy asked, taking in my expression. But I didn’t answer her. I was too busy watching Clara now.

She was on her way back to her table from the bathroom, swaying like a buoy in rough water. Her blonde hair was tied up in an updo, strands hanging low, her blue eyes hooded with drunkenness. She wore the same thing she’d been wearing earlier that day, a white tank top and jeans. The men surrounding the pool tables watched her, some of them jutting their chins her way for their friends to take notice of her, others elbowing one another. She was a f*cking target. But she didn’t seem to notice. She wasn’t noticing much of anything. The song changed just before she reached her table and she stopped, staggering from the abrupt halt. Closing her eyes, she swayed to the beat for a moment, not caring how she looked or who was watching. A tall, burly guy from the group came over and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her back, and forced her to shake her hips in rhythm with his as he danced. She weakly pushed down on his arm, trying to get away from him, but he didn’t release her. Instead, he pulled her closer and said something in her ear.

My barstool screeched against the wood flooring as I forcefully shoved it back, flipping it on its side. I didn’t bother to pick it up before I headed her way. I can’t tell you this massive feeling of jealousy had hit me and I marched over there to kick that guy’s ass. Maybe that’s how I felt. It’s definitely what I wanted to do. He certainly deserved it behaving that way with a woman that was clearly too drunk. But I was livid with her. Clara was a smart woman; always on top of things and in control. So what the hell was this? Alone in a bar completely smashed. She was too smart to do something so dumb.

“Hey, man,” I grumbled as I stormed up to them, my shoulders back, my chest out. “I’ll take her. She’s a friend.”

The guy turned away from me, taking Clara with him. Then twisting his head over his shoulder, said, “She’s having a good time, man. She’s not ready to leave.”

“I think I need to go,” Clara uttered, her words slurred. “I’m not feeling well.”

“She wants to go, man,” I growled, pulling his shoulder hard. “Let her go.”

He released Clara, but only to spin her around so he could look her in the eyes. “You’re fine, babe. I’ll get you home tonight.”

“No. I don’t want to go home with you,” she laughed drunkenly. “You’re a terrible dancer.”

“Now you have your answer. Let her go,” I demanded, my teeth clenched. This guy was a total f*ckwad. How many ways did she have to say she’s not interested? One should have been plenty.

He ignored me and pulled her toward him, but she stopped him, placing one hand on his shoulder as if to hold herself steady. “Just one more dance, sweet thing,” he purred, tugging at her.

“No!” I roared.

“She can decide,” he boomed back.

Clara tilted her head as she stared at him with a thoughtful expression. “One more dance. Then I have to go.”

Then she looked at me, her gaze glazed over, and gave me a little shrug. I was livid. She was telling me to f*ck off. That she was going to stay and hang with the douche bag to spite me. And I wasn’t having any of that. I stepped toward them, fully intent on yanking her ass out of the bar if I had to.

And that’s when it happened.

She puked.

All over him.

Like projectile puked.

It was awesome.

And horrible.

It was the best and worst all at once.

Everyone in the bar lurched away, even the ones in the back farthest from us, the bar falling silent except for the music blasting in the background. A few people let out some groans of disgust, covering their mouths and gagging. The guy looked down at his body, covered neck to feet in vomit.

“What the f*ck?” he shouted, his tone rich with disbelief.

“Shouldn’t have had that chili dog for lunch,” Clara noted as she grimaced at the sight of her own vomit. Somehow she’s managed to hose this guy down and not get a drop on herself.

Her gaze met mine again. Same glazed look. And she shrugged. She’d planned that. I’d thought she was telling me to f*ck off. She was really saying, watch this. I wanted to laugh hysterically but I decided I better get her the hell out of there before she puked again.

“You bitch!” he shouted. He knocked her hand from his shoulder and she stumbled. I caught her and pulled her to the side, propping her so she could hold the top of the booth seat to steady herself so I could grab her purse.

“She told you she wasn’t feeling well, man,” I pointed out as I handed her a napkin from the table so she could wipe her mouth, while I collected her things. “You should have listened.”

The guy was beet red with fury, his eyes fixed on Clara like he wanted to hit her. Dropping her shit in the booth seat, I turned to him. “Let it go, man,” I warned him. “Go clean yourself up.”

His angered stare trained on me. “Get that bitch out of here,” he fired back.

“You’re a real classy guy,” I piped back as I returned to collecting Clara’s things. I shoved the large envelope containing her separation papers in her purse with another envelope I only took a second to observe before putting it in her bag. It had her name on it written in my uncle’s handwriting.