Sophia
All the fearsand doubts about having drinks with Adrian were completely unnecessary. Tonight, has been fun. It’s been way too long since I’ve allowed myself to go out and enjoy the company of another man. Anger at allowing Dawson to still have that sort of sway over me rises up, but I push it down as far as I can. He will not be allowed to taint this night.
Adrian and I have been talking about nothing and everything. Tattoos, life, my family. He asks me questions nobody has ever thought to ask, and they are about me rather than just filling space so he can’t talk about himself again. It’s crazy how we’ve worked together for so long yet we know absolutely nothing about each other.
“Why was your brother going to pick you up tonight? Is something wrong with your car?” His brows are furrowed in concern. “I know a guy that can have it working in no time.”
A part of me wants to lie. Wants to tell him that something messed up on it, and that is why my brother has now become my chauffeur. But I can’t do that. Lying is the one thing guaranteed to push him away, and I’ve already started springing up thoughts of date nights, holding hands, and snuggling during movies. This is why it was a bad idea to have drinks with him. The first sign of attention and I’m conjuring happy ever afters.
“No,” I shake my head, and look down at the bowl of marinara sauce I’m swirling my cheese stick in. Staring at my food is better than looking at him, and letting him see the fear that’s gripping me when it comes to Dawson. Glancing around the room, I make sure he’s nowhere in sight. Which is ridiculous, unless of course he really is following me again. “I’m dealing with some issues from my past and he’s being really overprotective.”
“Is that why you were late to work today?” I can hear the concern dripping from his voice. As if he wants to be the one on the front lines, defending me from whatever is coming my way. But that’s dumb. This is one date. Hell, not even a date. We’re out drinking as friends.
“Yep,” I pop the ‘P.’ “But I don’t really want to talk about it. With any luck, everything will be taken care of soon.” Then, I can move on with my life for good. I’ll also make sure to pay attention to dates on court orders so I’m not blindsided again.
“Okay,” he hedges. “I’m here if you want to talk about it, though. If it becomes too serious, don’t be afraid to turn to me.”
My heart turns into a big puddle of goo. I can’t think of a time when a guy, who isn’t a part of my family, has been willing to let me voice my fears if the need arises. Hopefully it won’t become an issue because the whole situation regarding Dawson is likely to scare Adrian away for good. That asshole still manages to creep into my night and ruin a perfectly good time. He’s not even physically here, but the power he has is as strong as it ever was, and I need to be better at breaking that.
The bartender calls out that it’s the last chance for people to get another drink. Temptation to order another one and drown out every single thought and memory of Dawson is strong. Adrian taps the table, and asks, “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Yes.” I need air and room to breathe. Is this what a panic attack feels like? If so, I don’t want it.
The noise from the bar is quieting down, and I reach for my wallet. Adrian places his hand on mine. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”
He lays down a few twenties on the table, and curls his fingers around mine, helping me from my seat. This guy has to have some sort of flaw aside from his attitude at work. Nobody is this sweet without wanting something more.
Outside the bar, the air is hot and sticky. Sweat already forms along my hairline, and I shiver from the drastic change in temperature. But I can breathe. There’s no chance Dawson can be hanging around in a corner, waiting for his opportunity to pounce.
We walk across the street toward the parking lot beside Life in Ink. His hand still gripping mine, giving me comfort that he doesn’t know I need. The only vehicle there is a motorcycle. “Where’s your car?”
Smirking, he points toward the two wheeled beast. “Right there.”
“Oh, hell no,” I shriek. “I’m not getting on that death trap.”
“Why not?” He pulls me closer to the bike. “It’s perfectly safe.”
“Have you not seen how many motorcycle crashes happen because the other idiots on the road don’t pay attention?” Pulling my hand out of his, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’d rather not be scraped off the side of the road, thank you very much.”
“I never thought you would be the scared type, Sophia.” He leans against the wall beside his death machine, and sticks his hands in his pockets. “What if I promise to go really slow?”
He’s mocking me. What the actual hell? Clearly, he’s not in his right mind if he thinks I’m going to get on that thing. Just because I changed my entire appearance after I started working here does not mean I began doing dangerous things. I’m careful by nature. Especially now after all the crap I went through with Dawson. Getting on the back of that motorcycle does not equal a great life decision.
I’m not going to budge, and he finally realizes that. “I can call an Uber and come back for my bike if you really don’t want to ride it.”
He’s still smiling, acting as if it’s no big deal to have to pay for a ride to my place and back. My resolve wavers. I can’t ask him to do that. It would be stupid, especially since he still has to drive home afterward. It’s already after one in the morning. He has to be exhausted.
“I can get an Uber myself, and text you when I get home.” It’s not what I want to do. I’m not ready for my night with him to end. It will as soon as he drops me off because there is no way I’m inviting him in with my brother sleeping on the couch.
“Out of the question,” he argues. “I told you I would take you home after drinks. It was part of the deal. We either Uber together, or I take you home on this.” He pats the bike beside him.
Even though I really don’t want to get on it, I can’t keep myself from thinking what it would be like to have my arms wrapped around him as we drive through the city. For safety reasons, of course. “Fine,” I huff, and uncross my arms. “I’ll get on the stupid thing. But if I die while on the back of it, I’m coming back to haunt you for the rest of your days.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He waves me over and pulls a helmet from somewhere on the other side of the bike. “You can wear this. It will make you feel safer; I promise.”
“Where’s yours?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he places the helmet over my head, and reaches his hand out for my purse. “I’ll put this in my side bag for safe keeping. You don’t want it flying off your shoulder.”