“Doesn’t seem like it’s that hard to get a chance with you.”
I should stop. I shouldn’t offend the poor woman, but I’m drunk and I’m hurting and I can’t stop myself.
“Excuse me?”
She puts her hands on her hips and her voice is raised, drawing the attention of the whole bar. “Are you calling me easy?”
Walk away, Kieren. Walk away, walk away, walk away.
This time, I listen to my drink-addled brain and put my hands up while I slide off my barstool. I don’t notice the man who’s come up behind me until I back into him.
I’m a decent-sized man, but this guy is huge. At least a foot taller than me and twice as wide with muscles in his arms that pop out of the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. His bushy eyebrows are drawn together in an angry line.
“What did you call my sister?”
Oh, great. She’s got Popeye for a brother and he’s pissed off.
Lisa’s wearing a smirk, which tells me she’s enjoying the trouble she’s caused. Maybe these two work as a team praying on drunk men. I don’t know what their angle is, but I do know I never back down from a fight.
“I didn’t mean to offend your sister.”
That’s when Popeye makes a fatal mistake.
I may only be five foot eight, but I’m wiry. My body is honed from years in the Special Forces, and I know how to fight.
Popeye pushes me in the chest in the way that only large men do to smaller men they’re trying to intimidate.
Big mistake.
In one move, I spin around with an upper cut to the chest and a kick that’s supposed to connect with his side belly. Only I’m too drunk and slow. Popeye takes the punch with a heave and doubles over but manages to dodge the kick.
He throws a punch that I’m too slow to dodge, and it clips me on the side of the ear. The force spins me around, and I’m too drunk to keep my balance.
I stagger backwards, falling onto a table and sending glasses crashing to the floor.
I try to stand up, but the room is spinning, and instead I slump to the floor.
Popeye is bearing down on me, but Dave, the barman, steps in front of him with his arms crossed and a furious look on his face.
The room is hazy, and I’m not sure if I’m sitting on the floor or leaning against the bar.
“Let’s go, Kieren.”
The voice is familiar, and I squint into the face of Seth, my best friend. Even with his bad leg, Seth manages to pull me up because I’m fuck-all useless in this state.
My head is fuzzy, and I’m not sure what just happened.
I’m vaguely aware of Seth throwing some cash on the bar. “To cover the damage.” Which makes me wonder. What damage?
Then he’s shoving me through the door, and the cool, fresh air hits my face, making me want to puke.
I run to a bin and retch into it, but nothing comes out.
Laughing, I clutch the side of the bin and look up to find Seth with his arms folded, looking down at me like he’s my angry dad.
“What the fuck was all that about?”
I shrug because I really don’t know.