What If

He steps toward Derek, who looks like a toddler next to the expanse of man that is half blocking my view.

“Fucking bitch hit me.” He looks around at the faces staring back. “This is a cop bar, any cops see—”

“I’m a fucking cop and what I saw is you assault her first. You have two choices, hit that door in the next five seconds or hit the floor when I finish what she started.”

Waves of heat hit me as his voice fills my ears. Derek shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest but before he can get a word out, my hero lifts him off his feet by the back of his child-sized suit jacket.

Another patron that was sitting with Captain Amazing as I came out of the bathroom is now holding the door open.

A second later, Derek is launched out the door and the last I see of him is a crumpled mess on the dark sidewalk out front, screaming obscenities.

“You okay?” The monster of a man turns to me and runs his hands down my hair, leaning down to lock eyes level with mine.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s the truth.

It’s not because of Derek. I mean, that was intense, and I landed my first punch ever smack on target.

No, I’m fine because suddenly everything feels fine. Better than fine. Good.

Perfect.

Like I’ve just arrived on a tropical island after spending a lifetime at the North Pole.

“You’re not fine.” He reaches down and picks up my hand.

The knuckles are swelling but I don’t feel anything except the budding tension down low in my gut.

My hand looks like a child’s as he holds it flat on top of his palm, the finger of his other hand tracing over my knuckles.

“Gerry!” he shouts at the man who a moment ago held the door. “Get some ice.”

I look over to see him nod and head to the bar, stepping behind and then emerging with a white towel.

“She okay?” He looks at the mountain first, then down at me. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m really okay.”

Mountain looks at me. “What he did was wrong. You get that, right? He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

The violence in his voice takes me back. How he was able to see what was happening under the table is surprising at best. He must have had his eyes trained on me and the thought has wild expectations rising in my mind.

I take note that he’s looking me right in the eye and hasn’t once let his eyes drift lower. I’m not the most confident about my body, but one thing over the years that has rang true is nearly every straight guy, and even a few not straight guys, can’t seem to keep their eyes off my boobs.

They’re huge. I get it. They are the first part of me that enters any room and I understand they are attention grabbing, especially on a girl my height.

I’m barely five feet tall and I feel even smaller right now, standing next to this guy who could reach up and easily change any light bulb without pushing onto his tiptoes.

“So, you’re not going to arrest me?” I size him up with an upward glance and notice a long silver patch of skin that looks like webbing along the left side of his neck. For a moment, I wonder what happened to cause such a large scar.

“I’m not only not going to arrest you, I might just hire you as my bodyguard.” For the first time he flashes me a smile and the whitest of sexy teeth shine through his full lips. One of his front two teeth is chipped, and as I stare into his face, I note a few other marks and scars that tell me he’s not one to run from a fight.

I smile back as he brings my hand up higher for inspection, gently lifting the cold towel and turning my hand back and forth in his.

“Your knuckles are swelling. Can you move your fingers?”

I wiggle each one, making sure. “Yeah. It doesn’t really hurt, not really. I’m okay. I need to call a cab.” I glance toward the door and then back to the table where my purse and phone sit.

“No cab.” He shifts, his tongue coming out to graze his bottom lip and I take a deep breath, smelling a spicy, masculine scent. “Hold this here.” He presses the towel back on my hand and let’s go.

A couple comes through the bar door and brushes past us as we stand next to the table, and I watch how he eyes them with suspicion as they come close and one of his hands goes to his hip under the tail of his shirt.

“Well, I have to get home, I don’t own a car. So, yes, cab. Or Uber.” I nod, craning my neck to look up into those green, almost luminous, eyes as I step to the table and gather my purse shoving my phone into the side pocket.