“I called the cops already,” the man says. He glances from me to Lee to the car in the lot behind us. “Roadside assistance, as well.”
“That I had handled,” I protest, but Lee is already nudging me toward our rescuer.
“Go, go. The last thing I need is you getting into even more trouble on my behalf,” Lee is saying.
By this point, I realize we’ve attracted something of a crowd. A few camera phones are pointed our way, and someone from the club—another bouncer to replace the one Becky took off with—comes over, saying he has basic medical training. He kneels beside our would-be robbers to check their pulses, nodding to confirm they’ll be all right, minus the scrapes and bruises.
All the while, my gaze keeps straying over to our knight in shining armor. Or rather, knight in… a pair of jeans and a polo shirt.
The second or third time I glance over, he catches me looking, and moves closer. “Can I give you a ride home?” he asks. “It’ll probably be safer, this area, this time of night.”
“Actually.” I tilt my head. Size him up. It’s still early yet. The club might have to shut down when the cops show up, but he’s right, this area, it’s chock full of night life. Both the good and bad kinds.
Part of me shouts at myself to remember about tomorrow. I have a big important meeting to nail. But it’s in the afternoon. Tonight was meant to be my celebratory night out, to hype myself up for it. Now Becky’s vanished, leaving me all alone to deal with all of this.
I deserve a little fun, too. “Can I buy you a drink?” I ask.
My hero grins.
2
Cassidy
We wind up at a dive bar down the road. It’s much more my scene than the club was to begin with. Don’t get me wrong, I love dancing on occasion, but that place catered to a younger, more tequila-heavy crowd than I normally party with.
In the dimly lit bar, I lean across the counter to catch the bartender’s eye. “Whiskey for me,” I say, “And…?” I glance over my shoulder.
Is it my imagination, or do his eyes lighten with something close to interest? “The same,” he says, and settles onto a stool next to me. “So, Cassidy, was it?”
I nod, watching him as the bartender passes us both well whiskeys.
“Lark.” He smiles. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but, well, considering the circumstances…”
“Oh, no.” I slide his drink toward him, then raise my own. “It was very nice to meet you indeed.” We tap glasses. “To your perfect timing, Lark.”
He laughs. “Perfect timing would’ve been if I’d gotten there quickly enough to knock that asshole out before he got anywhere near you,” he admits, and rubs at his cheekbone.
I peer at his bruise. “We should get some ice—”
“No, no. It’ll be fine.” He offers a wry smile. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.”
I settle back onto my seat, watching him curiously from the corner of my eye. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” I ask after a moment. Because I saw him move. That was no basic self-defense class. He’s been in fights before. Real ones.
“Actually…” He smiles, a genuine one this time. “I grew up with five brothers. So, my training started there. And then, you know, perfected it in college. Between playing on the rugby team and going on one too many nights out to even seedier bars than this one…”
“Oi,” the bartender barks, before shaking his head and moving away to the far side of the bar.
We both stifle our laughter, trading amused glances. “Better watch your tongue,” I murmur.
Lark’s gaze shifts to my mouth and then back up again, so quick I wonder if I imagined it. But then… “Oh, I know. It’s always getting me into trouble.” His gaze drops again, and this time I know I’m not imagining things.
My cheeks flush, but luckily it’s dark in this bar. I take a sip of my whiskey, and watch Lark from the corner of my eye as he does the same.
“So where did you learn to change a tire?” Lark asks. “Or, for that matter, to swing a wrench like that.” He tilts his head, sizing me up. “Not sure I’ve ever seen anyone use that technique before.”
I grin. “What can I say? My dad wanted me to be prepared for any challenges the world could throw at a girl.”
“Well.” He raises his glass once more. “To fathers who prepare us properly, then.”
My grin falters. But I lift my glass anyway, tap it to his. What I don’t expect, though, is for him to notice my sudden shift in demeanor, the way I don’t quite meet his eye this time.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice dropping low.
“Just… my dad.” I shrug, blinking back a sudden and unexpected surge of tears. “He passed away a couple years ago.”