Page 41 of Tattletale

It’s because he has no idea who he’s fucking with. He chose the wrong victim tonight. I don’t run.“I think I’d rather kill you,” I reply.

“What the hell did you just say?” His next step is a little smaller. He must be surprised by my response. I still hold my ground even though he’s only about five feet away now.

My head starts to pound, and my stomach lurches. Four filthy martinis, and Ollie has a generous pour. That’s about equivalent to eight shots, meaning, I need a bed, some bread to mop up the liquor, and for this piece of shit to get out of my way. This is no longer entertaining.

“I’m about to teach you what little cock teases deserve.”

I roll my eyes. “While I’m intrigued to know what that lesson entails,” I snark, “I need to warn you first.”

“Warn me of what?” he bites out.

“On a good day, I’m a killer. On a bad day, I’m a savage. And you, sir, have caught me on aterribleday.”

He laughs at me like he’s watching a puppy trying to act ferocious. “And what are you on a terrible day?” He puckers his bottom lip to taunt me.

“Fucking bloodthirsty.”

I picture how any other woman would feel right now. Probably dread. It makes my skin crawl. How many women has this man cornered that didn’t know how to kill him with their bare hands?

I yank my pocketknife out of my back pocket and extend the blade. “But go ahead, you prick. Make my night.”

I’m almost certain he’s actually going to charge me until another figure steps around the building. It strides toward us purposefully. At first, I think it’s his business partner from the bar, until I realize how tall he is.

Of fucking course…because this night can’t get any worse.

Lance doesn’t say a word before striking the man behind the head with the butt of his gun. The man falters backward, and Lance catches him, then wraps his forearm tightly around his neck. It takes about eight seconds until the man goes limp. Lance releases him and watches him drop to the ground.

He steps around the unconscious heap on the ground but pauses a few feet away from me, as if he needs permission to get any closer. “You okay, C?” Lance asks.

“Well, if it isn’t my knight in shining armor,” I mutter bitterly, folding the blade of my knife and tucking it back in my pocket. “Who invited you? Certainly wasn’t me.”

Lance ducks his head, looking at the ground. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Fuck off. I could’ve handled it.”

He lets out a sharp exhale and smooths back his hair, which looks five shades darker soaked in the rain. “And watch you make yet another big mess? Why is your go-to always a knife?”

“And why is your go-to a Vulcan nerve pinch like a little chickenshit?”

“Aha!” Lance shouts, pointing right at my chest. “You finally watched it.”

“Watched what?”

“Star Trek,” he explains. “How else would you know what a Vulcan nerve pinch is?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He closes the space between us. “If you watched something from the list, maybe that means you were missing me almost as much as I was missing you.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I step backward.

“Not even a little bit.” I lie.

His expression fills with pain as he realizes there’s no changing my icy demeanor. “Well then, what’d you think? Did you just watchStar Trek?Or did you continue on toStar TrekInto Darkness?” He holds up his hands. “Sidebar—don’t bother withStar Trek Beyond.It really loses its legs.” Lance smiles.

It’s good to see his smile.

I missed him.I missed him so much, in fact, that this past week or so that I’ve been trying to remove Lance from my lifelike a bad tumor, I watched at least seven movies on the list he made for me.Shawshank Redemption. Braveheart. Forrest Gump.Multiple Rocky movies. And last but not least,Star Trek.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a well-known pop culture reference. I didn’t watch anything, so as usual, you’re rambling.” It’s petty, but I don’t want to admit the truth.

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