Hard Beat

“I still don’t like you,” I mutter as I turn on my heel to walk away but not before I see the shock flash through her eyes. I don’t hear her footsteps follow behind me. “You’d best be following me, because I’m not going to save your ass again, rookie.”

Two hours later, the bar is loud, the drinks are cold, and I hate that I keep thinking about Beaux. It doesn’t help that she’s sitting on the other side of the room, surrounded by men. And it’s not her fault; the male to female ratio here is almost ten to one, so I get it.