“I’ll catch a cab home,” I said. That was a lie. I didn’t have the cash for that, but it would make them happy.
Max scoffed, “Good luck finding a cab in this neighborhood.”
Milo offered to run to a drugstore and buy some stuff, but I insisted that it was too much trouble.
“Really, guys, I’m fine. I’ll splash my face with some water, and then head home. It’s not a big deal. I feel fine.” I moved toward the bathroom, but Max darted around me and placed a hand on my chest.
She was chewing on her bottom lip, wrestling with something. Her lips pulled into a straight line, and she looked up at me. “We’ll go to my place. It’s only a few blocks from here.”
I didn’t have to see Milo to know he was grinning behind me as he said, “That sounds like a great idea!”
I brought my hand up and covered hers that rested on my chest.
“Max, I’m okay, really.”
She glared at me, and I got the feeling that she was rarely told the word no. With her hand on my chest and mine on hers, I was all too aware of how much my body wanted to say yes.
My brain knew better.
She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Listen, Golden Boy, I’m trying this new thing where I don’t act like a raging bitch all the time. That means when a guy gets his ass kicked for me, I have to show a little compassion. It doesn’t come easy to me, so help me out.”
Huh. One day . . . we’d known each other one day, and she’d already picked up on the fact that I had difficulty saying no to people, especially people that needed my help.
I was supposed to do something out of character, though most of the things I did tonight were a little out of character. And it wasn’t like I didn’t try to say no.
“Okay.” I sighed. “But only if you take back that part about me getting my ass kicked.”
She laughed. “All right, I’ll give you that. But I totally softened him up for you.”
“Yeah, remind me not to make you mad when you’re smoking.”
There was a moment of awkwardness where we’d both already agreed, but neither of us stepped back or stopped touching the other. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat, and her hand dropped from my chest.
I said good-bye to Milo, and ignored the thumbs-up he gave me over Max’s head. I waited while she slipped on a coat and grabbed her things. She explained to one of the other bartenders what had happened. I thought maybe they wouldn’t let her leave, but after a short conversation, she was back at my side and ready to go.
She smiled up at me, and I was nervous. With all the pain and fatigue, who would have thought I’d have room for something like nerves?
“Come on,” she said. “You’re covered in blood.”
“Too gross for you?”
“Either really gross or really hot. I’m not sure which.”
She didn’t wait for a response before turning and pushing her way through the crowd toward the door. I followed at a slower pace, sure again that this was a dangerous idea.
Her attacker and Benny were gone when we returned outside, and someone else had taken up the bouncer’s post at the door. That was probably for the best, because if I’d seen the guy who attacked her, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. I kept seeing her face, pale and in pain, and his hand on her throat. Just the memory had me ready to fight him all over again.
She linked her arm with mine and asked, “You okay?”
I nodded. I didn’t need her for balance anymore, but I wasn’t about to deny the chance to touch her. It felt natural, like we were any other couple returning home.
We were silent for the first block or so, but when I looked over, I could see the glazed look in her eye, and knew she was replaying the event in her mind. I doubted she wanted to relive it any more than I did.
“So you’re a musician?” I asked.
She nodded but didn’t reply. Her gaze was fixed on the sidewalk, and from this angle I could see red marks on her neck from his hands. I wanted nothing more than to stop and hold her in my arms, but I knew that wasn’t her style. I doubt she’d ever been the type for hugs and comfort.
So I settled for distracting her.
“I’ve written a couple of songs, you know. Not because I want to be a musician, but just because the music helps organize my thoughts.”
I followed her around a corner, and though she kept her face down, I could see a small smile form on her face. “Will you sing me one?”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, come on!” She wrapped both hands around my arm, and pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. It was so damn convincing I actually considered it for a moment, but the only song I knew by heart cut a little too close to said organ.
Tonight was the night for forgetting about Bliss, and it had been going remarkably well until now. Singing a song I wrote about her was the last thing I wanted to do.
“Maybe another time,” I said.
“I’m going to get it out of you,” she said.
I had no doubt that if anyone could, it would be her.
The silence of the street swallowed up my thoughts, and that was fine by me. I was happy to just walk with her, no thoughts or troubles to get in the way.
We passed a twenty-four-hour Laundromat, and she slowed to a stop in front of a glass door with a set of buzzers. A staircase trailed upward on the other side of the door, and she pulled the door open without a key.
“No lock?”