“Yeah, me too,” I lie, looking down at my purse.
“Sorry if the night got off to a weird start. I know this place is a bit tricky to find, and then the whole drama with Chuck.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
I never want to think about it or him again. I just want to go home, kick off my pretty-but-uncomfortable slingbacks, and curl up with my kitty.
The restaurant entrance was in a weird place, though, so we have to trek through an alley to get back to a road busy enough for a taxi cab to pick me up.
“So, you want to head to my place?”
I look over at him, a little stunned he would even ask. “No.” Remembering my manners, I say, “Uh, I’m not really a… I don’t home with guys on first dates.”
“Classy and hard to get, huh?” he says, smiling that smarmy smile again. “I like that.”
Ew. So much ew.
I need a shower after spending so much time with him. I’m going to kill Charity. She’s officially never setting me up with anyone ever again. Her idea of a dating pool is my idea of a sewer, and I am not here for it.
He grabs my wrist, yanking me from my thoughts and catching me off-guard. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he walks me back against the brick alley wall and says, “Or maybe you just want to be chased, hm?”
“No. Ew.” That one slips out, totally by accident. I am horrified, but I’ve thought “ew” so much tonight, I’m actually kinda surprised this is the worst one I’ve inadvertently vocalized. “Er, I think I stepped in… something,” I mutter, poorly offering up a less mortifying reason for saying that. “Anyway, no. I’m tired and it’s late…”
“One kiss.”
He thinks he’s being sexy, but I do not agree. The last thing in the world that I want is his lips on any part of me. I don’t appreciate the way he’s towering over me. Looking up at him, my chest tightens. I press myself against the wall, a sensation of panic closing in quickly.
Uh oh.
A frown of concern flickers across Lance’s face. “Hallie?”
I’m close to hyperventilating, and the closer I get, the worse the panic is.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I’ll back off,” he says, immediately backing away.
I shake my head, trying to assure him it’s not him, I got triggered, but it’s not his fault. He couldn’t have known it would trigger me. I didn’t even know.
But I can’t squeeze any words out past the panic.
I try to breathe slowly, try to reason with myself that he’s not even near me anymore so there’s no reason to freak out.
“I don’t know what to…” He backs up more, but this time it’s less like he’s trying to reassure me, and more like he’s ready to bail.
He wouldn’t actually bail on a person on the verge of a panic attack, would he?
I don’t get to find out.
When we started walking down this alley way, a man in baggy jeans and a hoodie was walking in our direction, but it didn’t draw much of my attention. I might have felt a little warier alone, but with a man walking beside me, I wasn’t too worried.
I guess that background instinct was dead wrong, because the man steps up behind Lance and calmly presses the long barrel of a gun against his temple.
“Wallet.”
Lance freezes.
My panic subsides quickly, pushed out by a more urgent sense of fear.
“Whoa,” Lance says, slowly raising his hands like he’s a criminal and the guy’s a cop. “Easy, pal.”
“Wallet,” the hooded figure says again, more distinctly.
“I don’t have much cash on me, but what I have is yours,” Lance says. “Let’s just keep cool. I’m gonna reach for my wallet slowly.”
The man behind him doesn’t move a muscle. I can’t tell if he’s reassured by Lance’s calm demeanor, or if he even cares less.
Lance takes his wallet out, but instead of handing it over, he takes out the cash and passes it back over his shoulder without looking. “There. You can take it and go. We don’t want any trouble.”
Rather than let him go, the man crooks a finger and says, “Come over here, sweetheart.”
Me?
Of course me, he’s not calling Lance sweetheart.
I swallow hard, then slowly take a couple of steps forward.
“Like he said,” I say, my voice wobbling. “We really don’t want any trouble.”
“No heroes here,” Lance agrees. “Go ahead and leave, we just want to go home.”
“Give me your purse,” the hooded man says.
There’s something about his voice that feels familiar. Like I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it.
I start to hand over my purse, but instead of taking it, the man grabs me, turns me around, and locks me against his chest. A half scream escapes me before he gets his hand over my mouth.