Page 29 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

Years of combat training kick in, and my body responds before my mind can register the full weight of the threat. I grab the kid’s arm and twist, using his own momentum to slam him against the wall. His breath whooshes out in surprise and pain, and for a moment, the night is still, the only sound our heavy breathing and Biscuit’s confused yips.

“Are you all right?” I ask Allie, not taking my eyes off the would-be thief pinned under my forearm.

“Y-yes, I’m fine,” Allie stammers, her usual confidence replaced by shock. “Thatcher, what are you?—”

“Throwing a tea party. What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” I retort, though my heart isn’t in the sarcasm. There’s a part of me that wishes Allie didn’t need saving,that she could walk her dog without fear of being mugged, but that’s not the world we live in.

“Let me go, man!” The kid struggles feebly, but I’ve got fifty pounds, fifteen years, and a whole lot of anger on him.

“Sorry, kid,” I say, my voice low and hard. “You picked the wrong mark tonight.”

“Please, I?—”

“Save it for the police.” With a grim set to my jaw, I pull out my phone with my free hand, ready to dial 911 and put an end to this little episode.

“Thatcher, wait—please!” Allie’s voice softens as she approaches us.

“What the hell are you doing? Stay back!”

I look back at her, my grip on this guy’s collar still ironclad. The desperation in Allie’s eyes is unexpected, almost jarring against the backdrop of the quiet night. “Look at him, Thatcher,” she pleads, gesturing to the trembling figure beneath me with a flick of her eyes. “He’s just a kid who’s scared out of his mind. This could ruin his entire life over one stupid mistake.”

“Even stupid mistakes have consequences,” I growl.

“Please, let him go.”

“Let him go?” I spit out the words as if they’ve left a sour taste in my mouth. “You think this is his first time? That he’ll stop because you say please?”

“Maybe not,” she concedes, with that quirk of her brow that drives me mad. “But everyone deserves at least one second chance.”

Walking closer to the kid still pinned against the brick wall, she leans in. “If we let you go, will you promise to never do anything like this again?”

The guy swallows, eyes wide and darting between me and Allie. “I…yeah, I promise.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Really?” I ask. “You’ll just magically go on the straight and narrow and get a regular ol’ job that pays minimum wage?”

He licks his lips nervously. “I live with my grandma and she can’t work anymore with her arthritis. And I…I can’t get hired anywhere.”

“Why not?” Allie asks, concerned.

I snort. “Because you have an arrest record, right?”

He gives one short nod.

“Let him go, Thatcher,” Allie demands.

“You’re being naive, Allie,” I grumble.

“Better naive than obtuse,” she shoots back.

“Really?” I glare at her. This woman that’s so ridiculously out of touch with the dangers of the real world. “Because naivety can get you killed.”

“And being obtuse makes you a patronizing ass!”

We stay locked in a stare down for a few long seconds. “Fine,” I finally grind out between my gritted teeth, releasing the kid with a shove that sends him stumbling.

Before he can bolt, I grab his wallet from his back pocket, flipping it open to reveal the ID within. “Logan Matthews,” I read aloud, committing the name and address to memory. “Seventeen, huh? You’ve got a lot to lose, starting with your future.”

“Man, I—” Logan tries to interrupt, but I hold up a hand.

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