Protecting Dallas

I whirled, looking around helplessly. There was no one else. Only the jogger and his pursuer, who was slowly gaining on him.

What if he’s armed?

The thought sent shivers through me.

What if he has a knife, or a gun, or—

“UMMPH!”

At the edge of the clearing, both men were now on the ground. My would-be savior had made a last-minute jump, tackling the jogger around his ankles. It looked painful, the fall. The jogger landed hands first to protect his face, skidding along the cement path with a scream of pain.

The apple-eating cute guy was crawling his way onto him.

Don’t just stand there Holly! Go help him!

My legs moved on their own. I was walking at first, then running over to where the two men wrestled in the grass at the edge of the path. There was a grunt of exertion, then a cry of pain as the thief kicked my would-be hero square in the jaw. He scrambled to his feet and dove into the next wooded area, stopping only once to glance back in my direction.

I gasped as we made eye contact… and then he was gone.

Holly, move!

Impotently I realized I was frozen again. By the time I ran up to help my champion, he was already on his feet.

“A—Are you okay?”

The cute guy, now minus the apple, was rubbing his jaw with one hand. In the other, at the end of his outstretched arm…

“My bag!”

I took it and hugged it to my body. Then I rushed forward and hugged him.

“Thank you so much!” I cried. “Oh my God, you saved my life!”

He laughed. “Well not your actual life,” he replied breathlessly. “But your purse at least.”

“But my whole life is in here!” I shot back. “Besides, I got paid today. I just cashed my check.”

He started brushing himself off, and I moved to help him. Leaves and dirt fell away as my hands rubbed his chest, his arms, his back. Every surface I touched was hard with muscle. Every bit of him was in spectacular shape.

“You really carry cash?” he grinned. “I figured everyone has direct deposit these days, and—”

Our eyes met. From this distance, I recognized him immediately.

“I know you!”

My hero grinned back at me. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“You’re in my class. My psych class. My—”

“Statistics for Behavioral Sciences,” he grinned. “Yeah.”

“That’s why you were looking at me. That’s why you were staring.”

He laughed out loud. It was one of the better sounds I’d heard in a long time. “Was I really staring?” I watched as his skin flushed red. “Sorry, I— ”

“No no,” I smiled. “Please don’t be sorry. You’re my hero! You saved me. Saved my stuff.”

He nodded back to the bench, where my book lay face down on the ground. “If the thief were smart he’d have left your bag alone and grabbed one of our textbooks,” he joked. “They’re like a zillion dollars each anyway.”