They ordered. Hank got the biggest steak on the menu and she ordered a soup and sandwich for herself, mostly because she was probably going to be too nervous to wolf down a big slab of meat. Becca had a cocktail, and she noticed Hank drank just water. Not a drinker. That was good. They talked a little about Libby while waiting on their food, but the date still felt terribly awkward and stilted. Hank tended to answer in one-word responses unless she tried to pry more out of him, and it was exhausting.

She worried that he wasn’t having a good time. That she was a crappy date. Maybe she was too chatty for him and that was a problem. So when the food was set down, she concentrated on eating, waiting for him to pick up the conversation . . . but he never did. They ate in silence, and she continued to feel more awkward by the minute.

Something told her this was going to be her last date with Hank Watson. She didn’t know if she was disappointed. It was clear he didn’t want to talk to her . . . but if that was the case, why had he asked her out? She toyed with her spoon in her soup, her appetite mostly gone.

“Dessert?” their waiter asked, his voice kind. She suspected he could tell their date was going badly, because he kept casting sympathetic looks in her direction.

Hank looked at her and she shook her head, and the waiter set the bill down.

“If we’re leaving, I need to run to the ladies’ room before we go,” Becca said, getting to her feet.

Hank got to his feet, too, and nodded.

She turned and crossed the restaurant, biting back her sigh of disappointment. Well, this was how dating went now, wasn’t it? You had to date around to find the right guy. That’s what all the magazines said. It was an empowered time and she didn’t have to settle for the first man that crossed her path . . . except she was pretty sure she liked this one. So that was frustrating.

As she walked past the bar, her skirt snagged on something and flipped up. She felt a breeze on her butt and gasped, reaching for the back of her dress.

Everyone in the restaurant was going to see her ugly granny panties!

Except when she went to smooth her skirt down, someone else’s hand was there. Becca was horrified to find that someone from the bar—a biker from the rough look of him—had grabbed her skirt and was leering at her.

“Hey there, little girl.” He winked at her in a creepy way. “Where’re you hurrying off to?”

Becca jerked her skirt out of his grip, humiliation staining her cheeks as the guys sitting next to the biker laughed and stared at her.