Page 36 of Loved By You

“Tonight felt like the old days, boys. Mixing the drinks, dancing on the bar. Fuck, I miss it. I wasn’t built for the corporate side of things,” Harry declares, sounding jaded.

“Speak for yourself. I can barely move now,” Brad replies, falling onto a stool next to Ria and picking up a filled shot glass.

“Oh, poor baby. Do you need a back rub?” Harry mocks.

“Yeah? You offering? Because I've got this part right down here that needs a good rub.” Brad rubs his hand over his crotch.

We all laugh except Harry, who just downs a double shot.

Conversation flows until Ria yawns and glances at her watch. “Shit. I need to get going. It's gone 3 am. My girls will be up in a few hours.

“Damn, Ri. That's not a lot of sleep. You sure you’ll be okay? Maybe you should take tomorrow night off?

She looks at me deadpan. “Clearly you don't know my kids because they don’t let me have ‘days off’.” She raises up off her stool and gives Brad and Harry a hug goodbye and I jump up, ready to follow her.

She pushes through the door marked staff only and heads down the stairs and I’m hot on her heels.

“At least let me drive you home. I didn't even give you the foot rub I promised.”

God, could I sound any more desperate? This is embarrassing.

She stops and turns around at the entrance of the staff room. “Jack, don't be ridiculous. It's late, we both have work tomorrow and it would be like a 2-hour round trip for you. I’m fine.”

An unfamiliar feeling hits me, my chest tightening.Why don't I want her to leave?

She walks through to the staff room door and I am hot on her heels. She reaches for her purse and I grab it and hold it behind my back.

“Jack, give me the purse.”

“No.” I sound like a petulant child.

“Jack, it's late. I'm tired. Give me my purse please,” she huffs.

“No, let me drive you.”

She lunges forward to grab the purse. I take hold of her arm, pushing her back to pin her against the locker, still keeping her purse out of her reach.

“What are we? Twelve? Give me the fucking purse.”

Ooohh, I haven't seen this side of her. I like feisty Ria

“Now, now, we are getting a little feisty, aren't we, sweetheart,” I reply with a playful tone in my voice.

“Oh, you've seen nothing yet, action man,” she mutters, giving me a challenging stare.

A spark passes between us and I have to remember not to take it too far again like I did in the stockroom. Stepping back, I run my hand through my hair, still gripping onto her purse.

“Jack, why do you want to drive me home so badly?”

“Because that thing should be illegal to drive and you saved us tonight, and I can't, in good faith, send you home in that death trap. It's late, you're tired and I want to make sure you get home safe or…” I pause, trying to decide if my next words are a good idea, but I say them anyway. “...You could stay at my apartment. Those are your choices.”

The way she looks at me is like a punch to the gut. I get the feeling no one has ever fought for her safety or wellbeing the way I am. That she's been left to fend for herself too many times to count and that breaks me in a way I didn’t know was possible. I want to take her, make her mine and show her what it's like to have someone who isn't okay with losing her. Because I'm not. Not even a little bit.

“Okay,” she whispers, and I smile as an unfamiliar feeling of relief washes over me.

As soon as we leave the parking lot, Ria falls asleep. When we stop at a red light, I lean into the back seat for my suit jacket and cover her with it, before brushing her hair away from her face. She looks so peaceful. Like all her life stresses have left her, just for a moment. I don't know how she does it. She really is a real life superwoman. I've never met anyone like her.

The women I usually date are simple. No strings, no kids, no chaos, and truthfully, boring and easy. Ria is anything but easy.She is full of baggage and chaos and so much trauma it would take me years to unpack. I know the easy thing would be to back off, let her do her thing. Getting involved with a woman who has kids and in the middle of what sounds like a messy separation should be the furthest thing from my mind.

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