Page 34 of Bottles & Blades

He wavers on his feet, staggers back a step. “Who the fuck are you?” he slurs.

“Right,” I say again.

And then Imove.

Eleven

Tiff

One second,Dave is being his usual drunk jerky self.

The next, my eyes are going wide as Jean-Michel rushes forward.

With a speed I can barely track, he’s gripped Dave by the throat and shoved him back against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. “What thefuckdo you think you’re doing?” he growls.

Dave tries to answer, but with Jean-Michel’s hand around his neck, clenching so tightly his face is turning purple, my pain in the ass neighbor can’t so much as utter a word.

Not that Jean-Michel seems inclined to listen to any answer he can conjure up.

“You.” He shakes Dave violently. “Donot.” Another jerk that has Dave’s head lolling back. “Harass. Women. And you especially—” Dave chokes. “Do not harassthiswoman. Or else you’ll deal with me.”

He bends, puts his face right in Dave’s, and I know I should probably be scared, know I should probably want nothing more than to get the hell away from this man and the very real possibility that he could hurt me…

But I’m fascinated.

Awed by his strength.

Infatuated with the way he didn’t hesitate to protect me.

Shocked by the brute force, the speed, how Dave appears to be no more than a ragdoll in his hold.

And…entranced.

“Do you get me?”

More choking, whatever Dave is trying to say completely indiscernible.

Something Jean-Michel seems to realize because he loosens his grip enough for Dave to rasp out, “I get it, man. Jesus Christ, I get it.”

The choking increases again. “Not Jesus Christ,” Jean-Michel growls. “You come here late at fucking night pounding on my woman’s door, and not for the first time. You’re lucky this is all you’re getting because if it happens again, you will spend the rest of your life breathing through a fucking straw.”

“I—”

“Nowdo you get me?”

“I—”

“I don’t need more words, asshole. Just nod once if you get me.”

Dave nods more jerkily than a bobblehead.

“Now”—Jean-Michel shoves him so he crashes to the floor—“get your fucking keys out.”

“Wh-what?”

“Get the keys to your fucking apartmentout.”

Dave reaches a shaking hand into his pocket, retrieves a set of keys.

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