He probably wouldn’t have to work very hard to leave an impression on him. Callum’s got several inches and many pounds of lean mass on this jerk. The way he’s able to handle him so effortlessly tells me Callum could probably break him in half with one hand tied behind his back.

My throat goes dry taking in the scene in front of me. Thank fuck Callum happened to be watching. Just thinking about what the guy would have done if he hadn’t intervened has me in a cold sweat. He was comfortable enough to put his hands on me, a complete stranger, when I rejected him. Who knows what else he was capable of doing?

The drunken guy tries to speak, but nothing other than a gurgle comes out. Probably because of Callum’s death grip on his throat.

“Oi! What’s going on here?” the bartender shouts as he darts to our end of the bar.

With his eyes still on the drunken offender, Callum speaks. “Your customer grabbed my friend. And since you weren’t keeping an eye on things, I thought I’d handle it.”

Callum’s death glare cuts to the bartender, who is all wide eyes and no blinks.

“Sorry, mate,” the bartender says. He directs two other bartenders to haul the offender out of the bar.

Before he hands over the drunken offender, Callum leans his face even closer to his. “Do not put your hands on a woman like that. Ever.”

It’s a whispered threat, but it’s more lethal than a shout. Callum practically tosses him to the two bartenders, who deposit him on the sidewalk. A few tables break into applause and whistles. Callum doesn’t even crack a smile though. He simply walks back over to me and touches his hand to my elbow.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, every nerve within me short-circuiting. “Fine. Thank you.”

“Bloody creep,” he mutters, looking in the direction of the door.

The bartender hands me back my cash, saying our drinks are on the house. Callum nods at him, then turns back to me. His hazel eyes study me with concern.

“We don’t have to stay,” Callum says. “We can leave if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

Comfortable.

The word settles deep into my chest. It’s clear as day to me now: comfort is Callum next to me. I can be anywhere in any situation, and as long as he is next to me, I’ll be okay.

“I’m not above accepting a free drink.” I look up at him. “I want to stay.”

He chuckles, then carries our beers back to our booth. We pick up right where we left off, our conversation flowing easily. But inside me something’s different. Is a casual arrangement supposed to feel this intimate, this quickly? Because right now casual feels a lot more personal. And I think I like it.

Chapter 11