I hold my purse closer to my hip and hang back, but one of the much younger guys, probably not much older than early to mid-twenties, holds the door for me. The overhead light illuminates his face as I draw closer. His face is perfectly symmetrical, a born movie star or model, dark hair and mesmerizing eyes that soften when he sees me. He’s got a bad boy look about him, though. A modern-day James Dean.

  “After you, gorgeous,” he says with a grin that would melt the panties off a nun. I feel my cheeks heat, but give him a thankful nod. He’s all smooth talk and grace, and in comparison, I feel clumsy and foolish and like I’m really out of place.

  And yet… it feels nice to be called that.

  I smile my thanks, and when I enter, walk as far away from the rowdy group of men as I can. There’s something about them that oozes raw, unadulterated alpha male, something about them that’s all testosterone and steel. Something about them that intimidates me a little. You don’t see guys like this in the tiny town I grew up in in upstate New York, and if you do, they definitely don’t pay attention to girls like me.

  The room grows quiet when they enter, for such a brief moment of time it’s almost as if I imagined it. The bartender stands up straighter, the waitresses shoot one another quick, furtive glances. It’s so quick, before I draw in another breath everyone’s gone back to the way things were.

  Interesting.

  I find a vacant booth in the corner of the bar and take a seat. This is a good vantage point. From here, I can hear anything I want, eavesdrop and listen and observe, and hopefully no one but the waitress will know I’m here.

  “Sorry, honey.” I look up to see a middle-aged woman with graying hair standing by my table. “This one’s taken.”

  I look around the booth. “Taken?”

  “Yeah, hon. Bachelorette party coming in a few, all tables from here to the back are reserved.”

  I look where she points to a small reserved sign hanging on the side of the booth that I didn’t notice before.

  “Oh. Sorry about that. Do you have a booth I could sit in?”

  She shakes her head sadly. “Sorry, babe. You’ll have to sit at the bar.”

  “The bar?”

  “Yeah. But don’t worry, you can order food there.”

  That’s not what I’m worried about. I feel like sitting at the bar might as well put an available sign around my neck.

  This was a mistake. This was a stupid, stupid mistake. I came here wanting to be anonymous, and to break up the monotony of staying in my car, not to be noticed by anyone.

  Shit.

  My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t had anything to eat since last night, and it’s now evening. It’s fine, I reason. I need to shed a few pounds anyway. What’s a little starvation?

  I glance at the menu, relieved to see there’s a Friday-night special during happy hour. A five-dollar happy hour bar pizza sounds divine right about now.

  The bartender wipes down the counter in front of me and smiles. She’s young, college-aged or so, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a merciless ponytail. “Can I help you?”

  I haven’t been to Boston since I was a kid, and I half-expected everyone here to talk with a Boston accent. It surprises me she doesn’t. When she raises her eyebrows at me, I find my tongue.

  “Yes, please, could I get the pizza and the happy hour margarita?”

  She gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, happy hour ended half an hour ago.” My belly sinks. Damn it.

  “Don’t worry about it,” a man’s voice says behind me. “I’ll get this one.”

  I look over my shoulder to see a tall, well-dressed man giving me a smile. He’s kinda hot, in a deliberately tousled way. He’s probably a year or two older than my twenty-eight years and looks decent enough. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Oh, I’m...” I’m not sure how to respond. I’m starving, I’ve got hardly any money, and did he just offer to get me a drink or food? It can’t hurt, I reason. “Just traveling through town.”

  And hopefully will be going on my merry way soon. Where to? I have no idea. What next? Same black hole of no idea. Where will the next stage of life bring me?

  I ignore the feeling of desperation that threatens to shake my resolve and rattle my nerves. I swallow hard and force a smile. I’m not making any other decisions until tomorrow’s meeting.

  “Welcome,” he says. My stomach chooses that exact minute to growl in the most unladylike way imaginable. I stifle an embarrassed snort, but he only smiles, flashing perfectly white teeth at me. “Hungry?”

  I decide I don’t trust him. Maybe it’s because he’s standing too close or his tone is too familiar, or he smells really, really good, but there’s something about him that sets my nerves on edge.

  “Starving,” I admit with a nod. “And thank you, but I’ll get my own drink and food.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he says with a smile, but his eyes hold an icy edge. “I’m just passing through town, too.” He leans in close. His breath smells faintly of whiskey. His knuckles graze my wrist. “Tomorrow, we’ll both go our separate ways and neither will be the wiser. It’s on me.”

  Is he… implying what I think he is? What happens in Boston stays in Boston?

  My skin crawls with the implication, as the bartender places my frosty drink on a little napkin in front of me.

  I want to leave, but I really, really want to eat. Maybe for once in my life I should do something drastic. I’m starving and broke, and he can’t make me do anything I don’t want him to.

  “Oh?” I ask, reaching for my drink. My lips feel parched, my mouth a desert. I take a sip, and it tastes so good, I gulp it. I sigh. “And where’s that for you? Tomorrow, that is.”

  He grins. “Heading to the airport in the morning.”

  Ah. So he’s looking for a one-night stand and a little nightcap. Well, I’m not the girl for that party.

  “Where to?” I ask. I’ll small talk him until I get my pizza. I’m not the kind of person to do this, but I’m going for broke here.

  He gives me a smile I can only describe as predatory. “That’s a secret.”

  “Ah. Well, I hope you have a good trip,” I finish lamely.

  He sits on the stool beside me. Too close. His knee brushes mine, but it doesn’t feel nice. I want to push him away, and have just decided to do exactly that when the waitress slides a plate of steaming, bubbly pizza in front of me.

  My mouth waters. I’m so hungry I’m weak.

  I take a slice of pizza, and bite into it. “Oh, yum,” I say around a mouthful of cheesy, crispy pizza. I push the plate his way. “This is incredible.”

  He smiles. “Go on. You eat it.” He shrugs and lowers his voice. “I’d much rather watch you eat.”

  Ok, he’s creeping me out.

  My hand trembles a little when I reach for the second slice. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to regret eating this next to him and taking any charity from him at all, even though technically I’ve done nothing wrong. I just don’t trust this guy.

  Loud laughter comes from where the rich men entered earlier, and I’m not the only one to look their way. A table full of attractive, single women sits to my left, whispering amongst themselves and giggling, and even the bartender’s gaze has wandered there a few times. I can’t hear exactly what they’re saying, but the younger one who held the door for me says something that makes the rest of them bellow with laughter.

  They’re friends, this group, that much is obvious. Likely brothers, if I’m to assume the similar dashing looks and suave grace have anything to do with genes. But they’re tight. They laugh with the air of familiarity and companionship most only dream of.

  And for one wild, lonely, crazy minute… I want to be with that group. I want to belong the way they do. I want someone to know me, to really, truly know me, to care about me, and to welcome me home.

  I blame the long car ride and the uncertainty ahead of me. I’m too pragmatic for such romantic idealism. I shake my head and take another sip of my drink.

  I glance quickly back at the group of well-dressed men.

  The man at the center of the group, who seems like he’s the focus of tonight’s attention, smiles sadly and takes another sip from his drink. His dark hair falls over his forehead, and he shoves it away impatiently, like he doesn’t have time to have obscured vision. I couldn’t really see him before when they entered because so many of the others were crowded around him, but now… now I can’t take my eyes away.

  I’m not sure if it’s the rugged cut of his jaw covered in dark black stubble, or the way… oh, God, the way he takes up half the table with the breadth of his shoulders. My eyes travel down the muscled column of his neck, and even the expensive fabric of the suit he wears can’t hide how large and strong he is. Someone talks to him and he responds. I can’t hear the words, but the deep, rough register of his voice makes a heaviness settle between my legs. He’s raw, unadulterated, visceral male, and I’ve never seen anything like him in person.

  As I stare, he lifts his head. His eyes beneath heavy dark lashes and brows meet mine, catching my eye from across the room. He holds my gaze, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I can’t tell the color of his eyes from across the room, but I feel the fire in them hit me straight in the solar plexus.

  My lips freeze on the margarita glass. My heart’s beating faster. My fingers wrap around my drink more firmly, as if to anchor myself onto something tangible before I drown. I can’t breathe while he holds me in his gaze, as if an electric connection’s fused us in this one stolen moment of time.

  I turn away first. I have to. It feels like a forfeit.

  If I don’t stop staring at him, I’ll become his. He’ll beckon me to him, and I’d walk over there as if hypnotized. I’d give him my very soul if he but crooked a finger.

  I stare down at the plate of food, as if coming back to Earth. Everything feels strangely foreign. Even when I take another bite of pizza, it no longer holds the tantalizing appeal it did just moments ago.

  “Ahh, Romeo,” one of the men says behind me in a thick Italian accent. “You need more than a drink and food tonight, amico, eh?”

  Romeo. Why do they call him Romeo? Is he known for being a charmer, then?

  I’m glad I looked away. I have no use for a charmer. I bet he has a beautiful wife at home. I bet she’s waiting for him, in their perfect house with their sweet little children. Well, no, his friend’s hinting he needs a woman tonight, so… none of this bodes well.

  “Is it good?”

  I blink in surprise, and look up at the man sitting next to me. I almost forgot about him. He’s determined to make sure that doesn’t happen. I almost forgot about everyone but the man across the room who’s somehow managed to ignite me with merely a look.

  “It’s delicious, thank you.” He smiles and signals to the bartender. “We’ll have another drink.”

  “Oh, no, thank you,” I say with as much grace as I can muster. “After this drink, I really need to go.” I shake my head at her. “Just a water, please.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you need another drink. What’s the rush?”

  Ugh, one of those men, who thinks he’s within his rights to push me. Newp.

  What is the rush? All I’m going to do when I’m done here is find a public restroom where I can freshen up for the night, then an abandoned parking lot that’s relatively safe where I can park and sleep before the big reveal tomorrow.

  “Just water,” I insist.

  “For now,” he says, nursing his own drink on the rocks. “So tell me about yourself. What brings you here?”

  I take another slice of pizza, finally feeling relief from the ache of hunger in my belly. The food’s revived me a bit, but the alcohol’s made me sleepy.

  For one brief, hysterical second, I imagine myself telling this skeevy stranger the truth.

  I received a letter from an attorney to appear at a stranger’s house. I’m here with everything I own in the back of my car. I’ve got no money because my asshole of an ex swindled me, and now I have to start off on my own, and I’m really hoping for a miraculous turn of events at tomorrow’s meeting.

  I smile. “Just decided I needed a change of scenery for a while. You?”

  He leans over the bar and brushes his thumb over my hand that’s curled into a fist. I shiver uncomfortably and tuck my hand in my lap.

  “I’m here for a one-night stand,” he says in a low voice only I can hear. “I’m told I’m good in bed. I’m safe, I use protection, and I’m a very generous lover.” My stomach churns. Well, then. So much for foreplay and subtleties. “Join me tonight?”

  “I—I can’t do that,” I tell him honestly. I have less than zero interest in a one-night stand with a stranger, especially someone who looks at me the way he does. “I do thank you for the pizza and drink.”

  His smile turns deadly. “Surely you’re not telling me no?”

  “That’s what she said,” the bartender says with a cool smile. “And here? We always make sure a lady’s no is well-respected.” She leans across the counter. “Got it?”

  He cuts his eyes to her but doesn’t respond. The food sits heavily in my stomach. I try fruitlessly to follow it with a solid swig of my drink when ice hits my lips.

  I feel as if I’m going to be sick. Did he put something in my drink? No, the bartender’s been watching him like a hawk and would’ve realized it. I imagine it’s just my nerves.

  I have to get out of here, now.

  “Your restroom?” I ask her.

  She points to the far corner of the room where a neon restroom sign indicates the way.

  “Thank you.”

  I am out of here. I’m gonna find an exit, slip on out, drive far away from this place with its beautiful people and predatory scumbags, and go. Somewhere. Anywhere. He said he’d pay for my food, so he can do just that.

  My hand shakes when I push open the door to the bathroom, but I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure the guy at the bar—I don’t even know his name—isn’t watching me. He’s looking over his shoulder the other way. I take my chance, and run for the back door with the exit sign.

  Something tells me he’ll follow me if he sees me. My hand fumbles with the doorknob, but thankfully it’s unlocked. I step out into the cool night air, and quickly shut the door behind me.

  I make a quick mental inventory of where I am. To one side, large plastic crates are lined to the roof, and further back, a full dumpster stands high and tall. A black cat slinks past me, but other than that, there’s not a soul out here. Not one.

  My heart sinks when I see the parking lot is a good walk away from here. I keep my head down, my chin tucked onto my chest, and walk so fast I’m nearly running. I don’t know why some rando hitting on me at the bar makes me feel so sick to my stomach. It happens all the time, probably literally every night here, and I doubt that anyone in there would even think twice about someone hitting on me.

  I might be starting over, I might be starting fresh, but I did not work my ass off for years for nothing. I know who I am, and I will not cower.

  Ever.

  I take out my keys, my hands trembling. I don’t have one of those fancy lock things, just a regular old key, but it gives me a measure of comfort to have it in my hand. I draw in a breath as I turn the corner and walk straight into a wall of man chest.

  “There you are.”

  Fuck. He followed me. Not only did he follow me, he went around so he’d catch me.

  I step back, real fear clawing at my belly at the look in his eyes that’re no longer hooded. His eyes are narrowed on me, and he’s pissed.

  “You followed me.”

  “You left me. You took the drink and food and ran.”

  “Let me go.” My words come out so much weaker than I planned. I open my mouth to scream, but I’m not sure who would hear me back here.

  “Let you go?” he asks, stepping even closer, his hands out in front of him as if he’s innocent. “No one’s holding you here. Why are you acting like I am?” I step to the right, and he deftly blocks me. Step to the left, and he’s right in my space.

  I gather up my courage. “If you don’t get out of my way and let me go to my car, I’m going to hurt you.”

  Wow, Vittoria. Terrifying.

  He takes a step closer and shoves me against the wall. My head cracks against concrete, and a spider skitters down the wall beside me. I stifle a whimper, but before I can move, one of his hands is around my arm and the other around my throat, pinning me in place.

  “Were you threatening me?”

  I can’t speak. My head feels too light, my cheeks too hot, and there’s a ringing in my ears that makes me feel like I’m going to pass out.

  I shake my head. He’s too big. He’s too strong. I could kick his nuts but I’d never make it to my car in time. If I scream, who would even hear me?

  I gasp when he releases my throat, only to drop his hand to my chest and grope me. I slap at him, but he quickly deflects me.

  “I wanted you alone tonight. If you’re not gonna give it to me easy, I’ll take it. You owe me.”

  Panic makes me manic. I shove at him, I try to push him, but he’s as immovable as concrete. He’s heavy, and way too strong for me to fend off.

  So this is how it happens, I think wildly to myself. This is how women get assaulted.

  His fingers grab onto my top and he yanks it, the fabric tearing. I go to scream, but before I do, his hand cracks across my face. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

  I scramble to get away, but he yanks me to him. I open my mouth to scream when something’s shoved between my teeth. He pushes me onto the concrete facedown and my head bangs with a sickening thunk. I push and shove and claw and scream against the gag, but I can’t get away.

  “Fucking bitch,” he growls. “I didn’t want to do this the hard way.”

  I’m going to vomit. I’m going to pass out. I’m overheated and terrified and shaking.

  The sound of a cigarette lighter snicks in the darkness. A flame illuminates the shadows of a face about ten feet away.

 

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