What If

The front door has opened several times since she arrived. The bar stools are filling as other cops come off shift and the end of the workday has more of the new group from the mortgage company coming in.

“Nothing.” I wave him off as I see her emerging from the hallway back toward the table.

The shithead she’s with has moved his chair right next to hers and my fists ball at my sides. I take a hard sniff as every muscle in my body tenses.

If he touches her, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.

If he touches her, I’ll hurt him.

Chapter 3

Jessie

It’s a battle, as I come out from the restroom after my rescue call from Heather, to not look at the hunk with the book.

I just want out of here, but at the same time, I don’t.

As I turn from the hallway back into the bar, I see the monster of a man now standing looking my way, and I stumble over my own feet.

“Shit.” I mumble and right myself trying to retain some amount of my cool.

He is enormous and making zero attempt to hide the fact that he’s staring directly at me.

At me.

My stomach flips, then turns sour as I look over to see Derek has moved his chair and himself in it right next to mine.

Our painful conversation has alternated so far between a manifesto on his financial success as a mortgage banker and a flood of sexual innuendo that has gotten raunchier with every drink.

Of which he’s consumed almost four since I arrived, on top of who knows how many before I came through the door.

My skin crawls as I sidestep and slip into my chair. I grip the seat on both sides, trying to tactfully scoot it a few inches away from him.

“Glad you’re back.” He leans closer and the scent of alcohol breath makes me shiver. “I missed you.” His words are thick, and I don’t even bother to fake a polite reply.

“That was my mom,” I lie. “She’s not feeling well, I need to cut it short—”

Derek ignores me and slips a hand under the table onto my knee.

“I think we have things in common, Jessie. Jessie Patrick.”

The way he says my full name makes me cold.

“I need to—”

He cuts me off. “You’re that sweet, girl next door type with some skeletons in her closet.”

A shiver races up my spine at the thought of what he knows about me, and hoping I’m just misreading his insinuation. Either way, I’m done with this shit show and that last straw is quickly breaking the camel’s back.

I make one last attempt to remain polite. “I’m going. Sorry, I just—” He interrupts me again and what was irritation bubbles over into anger.

“Don’t go,” he slurs. “My place isn’t far from here. Come over, we can have a drink there.”

“No, thanks, I have to go.” I jerk my leg, trying to dislodge his hand.

“Come on. Do you know what most girls would give to be in your position right now?” His eyes trail down to my tits and my thoughts go to my choice of clothing. I should have opted for a turtle neck rather than a tank top because he’s done nothing but look at his phone or my cleavage since I sat down. “You’re lucky.”

He could be right. He’s the type I’m sure a lot of girls would find attractive but there’s nothing about this guy that hits any of my buttons.

“You’re an ass,” I blurt out, that last straw snapping.

Seems number twenty-eight is my limit. I’ve had it. I can’t do this anymore.

“What?” He glares, pulling his brow tighter and sliding his hand up to grab me between the legs. “I’m an ass? You’re a dumb cunt—”

Before he can finish whatever else he wanted to say, I draw back and slam a closed fist right into his stupid nose. The impact is harder than I expected, and I realize with a mix of mild horror and satisfaction that I connected with far more force than intended.

“What the…” Derek’s voice chokes and his hand flies to cover his face. “…fuck?” He’s on his feet as I knock my own chair back to stand ready for whatever comes next.

My fist is throbbing and my heart pounding, but I feel so alive. I put up my dukes like some cartoon character ready for a full on fist-to-cuffs.

Rage fills Derek’s eyes as he steps forward, and he raises an open hand. I square my shoulders and cock back, but before either of us has a chance to strike, an arm clutches around my waist and I’m off my feet, spun around then planted securely back on the floor three feet away from Derek.

“You fucking better think again.” A growly voice comes from the massive man that just plucked me from my first fight.