EXPECTING THE WORSE
704 Words
"I am fine," I lie, even though my knees feel weak and my hands are trembling so much I can hear the water sloshing inside the bottle.
"You are definitely not fine," he points out gently. "You walked into a gritty dive bar in a heavy rainstorm wearing a dress that belongs at a charity gala, and you started throwing back cheap tequila like you were trying to erase your own memory."
His words hit too close to the truth, so I look down at my bare feet and the wet, ruined hem of my dress to avoid his intense gaze.
"My night did not go the way I planned," I whisper, feeling the sudden urge to cry as the terrible memory of Mark and Owen flashes behind my eyes again.
"I gathered that," he says softly, his voice echoing in the quiet space.
"You should just let me leave so I can get back to my motel room," I tell him, sniffing quietly and wiping a stray drop of water from my lip. "I am just going to cause more problems for you if I stay here, and I really just want to be alone."
"The cops are still taking statements out front, so you need to wait at least twenty minutes unless you want them to drag you to the station as a witness," he warns me, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on his hips. "You can stay in here until they leave, and then I will have one of my guys drive you wherever you need to go."
I let out a defeated sigh and let the back of my head rest against the wall, realizing I really am stuck in this office until the police finish their work.
I look at him again, really looking at him this time, and I notice how his chest rises and falls in a steady, calming rhythm.
He is huge and intimidating, but he has not taken a single step toward me since he slid that water across the desk.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask, the question slipping out of my mouth before I can stop it. "People do not just help strangers for no reason, so there has to be a catch."
"There is no catch," he replies, and he sounds so genuine that it actually hurts my chest to hear it.
"Everybody has a catch," I argue, shaking my head because I refuse to be naive ever again. "My fiancé told me he loved me right before I caught him sleeping with his best friend tonight, so do not stand there and tell me you are just a good guy doing a good deed."
The words spill out in a rushed, angry mess, and I immediately regret telling this strange biker my humiliating secret.
I bite my lip hard and look away, feeling my cheeks burn with hot shame as the silence stretches between us once again.
I expect him to laugh at me or make a crude joke about my failed relationship, but the room stays perfectly quiet.
I finally force myself to look back at him, and I see that his jaw is clenched so tight a muscle ticks near his ear.
The calm patience in his eyes is gone, replaced by a dark, simmering anger that makes the air in the room feel ten degrees hotter.
"He did what to you?" he asks, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register that sends a shiver down my spine.
"It... it does not matter," I stutter, wishing I could take the words back and just disappear into the floorboards. "I should not have said anything because it is none of your business, and I do not need your pity."
"You are right, it is none of my business," he agrees, taking a slow, deep breath to control whatever violent urge just spiked in his blood.
He leans his head back against the wall and watches me with a fierce, protective intensity that I have never experienced before in my life.
"I'm Alessandro," he says, his voice a deep gravel. "Who hurt you so badly that you're looking at me like I'm a monster?"
- Writer
