One in a Billion Bear ~ Beck: Book 2 by Caelia Portier

Book 2
    “Hey tits, I need another Coors!”
    Another Friday night at the bar. I’m used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Or tolerate it. I brought a glass of Coors over to the man standing at the far end of the bar who looked awfully satisfied with himself, despite his ratty beard and dirty, torn up Dale Earnhardt Jr. t-shirt. He smiled at his friend, and I heard his friend mumble something in a lecherous tone. He reached out for the Coors, smirking, and I pulled it back just out of reach, effectively removing said smirk.
    “If you call me tits again, the only thing I’m going to serve you is piss. Do you understand?”
    “What the… it’s a compliment! You got a great body, girl.”
    “I know I do, but I don’t need your opinion.”
     
    “Oh well ain’t you a stuck up bar whore—”
    I didn’t even let him finish. I threw the beer in his ugly, twisted face. For a moment he was surprised, then reached across the bar and grabbed my arm before I could back away. I tried to pull away, but his grip was too tight.
    “You fat fucking bitch! I’m gonna teach you,” he bellowed as he raised his arm menacingly. It was all happening so fast, yet a million thoughts somehow had time to enter my mind.
    I could block a hit, but maybe only once or twice. He was deceptively strong. There wasn’t a weapon behind the bar that I could reach. The voices of other patrons and my co-worker all meshed together. I put up my other arm and braced for impact.
    Someone grabbed the man’s arm and commanded coldly, “Let her go and get the hell out.”
    We both looked at this man. The stranger was a full foot or two taller than my attacker. Even colder than his voice, his blue-grey eyes bore icily into the other man’s face. The grip on my arm loosened and the two men stood facing each other silently. My attacker appeared uncertain about what to do. He was clearly fighting with his pride. The stranger was unflinching.
    “I’m going to call the cops if y’all don’t settle down,” said Bobby, the other bartender, matter-of-factly. Bobby has worked in the bar even longer than me. He’s seen it all, and he doesn’t get riled easily.
    “Hmph, ya ain’t worth it anyhow,” said my attacker. Then he looked me up and down contemptuously. “Neither of ya.” He slunk out with his friend like two guilty dogs.
    After watching them leave, I looked back at the stranger standing in front of me and was taken aback by his cold eyes on me. Except they were softened by concern.
    “Are you okay?” His voice again reflected his eyes. Standing so much shorter than him, I almost felt like a child. Now who’s fighting with their pride? I massaged the sore red spot on my arm mostly out of nervous tension.
    “I’m fine. Jerks like him come in here all the time.”
    “You shouldn’t work in a place like this,” he said, looking around at the smoky, dimly lit bar.
    “You’re right! Let me just tell Bobby I’m quittin’ to pursue my dream of being homeless,” I said sarcastically. My tone had more of an edge than I meant it to, so I smiled crookedly at him to try and smooth it over.
    I thought at first it didn’t work because his eyes regarded me critically, but then the right side of his mouth turned upward slowly. Amused, he said, “I’m sure you could find someone to take you home.”
    Everything below my waist twisted and liquefied on the spot, but I was determined not to give myself away, so I laughed loudly. “Finding someone to take me home is not the hard part. Finding someone who knows what to do with me, well, that’s the challenge.” I winked at him in the casually flirtatious way I had refined to an art working at the bar and walked away. There were customers to get to and I was grateful for their demands. It gave me a reason to walk away from him that didn’t look like running.
    Fifteen minutes or so passed before I noticed he stayed there at the end of the bar, and it finally occurred to me I hadn’t