sip more of the water while he drains the last of his beer.
“Who would win in a fight: you or Finn?” I ask.
Callum scoffs. “Ridiculous. Me.”
I give my best mock frown. “You sure? Finn looks like he keeps in good shape.”
Callum’s jaw tenses, and I have to swallow back a laugh.
“You’re joking, right? I’m three inches taller than him and weigh a stone and a half more.”
I shrug, looking around the bar, pretending like I’m unimpressed with that fact. “If you say so.”
He lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re taking the piss. Nicely done.”
I point to his empty glass. “Another?”
He nods and says thank you as I stand up to take our empties to the bar. I ask the bartender for two more pints and check my phone, smiling to myself. It’s a wonder how seamlessly I shifted from sad to happy in Callum’s presence. I rack my brain, but I can’t remember any guy I’ve dated who I could be so emotionally open with, who made me feel equally at ease whether I was sad or happy.
Someone’s hot breath hits my neck, interrupting my thought. I shudder, then look to my left. A thirty-something man with glazed-over eyes sports the creepiest smirk I’ve ever seen. He’s so close that we’re brushing shoulders. The stench of alcohol hits my nostrils. Every muscle inside me tenses at his proximity.
“Can I buy you a drink, love?”
I turn back to the bartender, who is just now getting to filling my drinks. “No, thank you.” I stare straight ahead, hoping that my refusal to look at him signals my obvious disinterest.
His hand lands on my back. “Come on, then,” he practically sings. “You look a bit worked up. A drink might loosen you up.”
He leans into me even more, and I bump a nearby stool to try to get away from him. “I said no. And don’t touch me.”
The drunken offender’s hand falls away and so does his smile. He takes a step back, and the breath I’ve been holding flows out in a huff. The bartender sets the drinks down in front of me, but I don’t just want to scurry away from this guy. I want him to know just how much of a prick he is for invading my space. I have a right to be at this pub without being harassed.
I turn to him. “Is that disgusting approach usually a hit with the ladies? God.”
Drinks in hand, I spin around to walk back to my booth, but then I feel his hand on my shoulder. Again I’m cringing. I’m also cursing myself. I should have just walked away without saying a word. Now I’ve provoked this angry drunk.
But just as quickly as it came, his hand is gone. Behind me there’s a grunt, then a thud. I spin around, stunned at the sight of Callum pinning the drunken prick by the throat to the bar.
“You don’t touch her.”
Callum’s growl captures the attention of every patron in the pub. His face is red, his jaw is tense, and his body is on edge, ready to unleash hell if the drunken guy so much as blinks wrong.
He probably wouldn’t have to work very hard to leave an impression on him. Callum’s got several inches and many pounds of lean mass on this jerk. The way he’s able to handle him so effortlessly tells me Callum could probably break him in half with one hand tied behind his back.
My throat goes dry taking in the scene in front of me. Thank fuck Callum happened to be watching. Just thinking about what the guy would have done if he hadn’t intervened has me in a cold sweat. He was comfortable enough to put his hands on me, a complete stranger, when I rejected him. Who knows what else he was capable of doing?
The drunken guy tries to speak, but nothing other than a gurgle comes out. Probably because of Callum’s death grip on his throat.
“Oi! What’s going on here?” the bartender shouts as he darts to our end of the bar.
With his eyes still on the drunken offender, Callum speaks. “Your customer grabbed my friend. And since you weren’t keeping an eye on things, I thought I’d handle it.”
Callum’s death glare cuts to the bartender, who is all wide eyes and no blinks.
“Sorry, mate,” the bartender says. He directs two other bartenders to haul the offender out of the bar.
Before he hands over the drunken offender, Callum leans his face even closer to his.