“Want?” I lift the small bottle like an offering when he gives me a shit-eating grin.

“You carry hand sanitizer?”

“Of course I do. There’s no soap in places like this.” My voice comes out more defensive than I intended.

“You realize you’re in the middle of a nightclub in Vegas. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning, and you just took a piss in a communal restroom.”

I grimace from his word choice. “And?”

“Well”—he chuckles—“good to know you never lose your sense of hygiene.”

He puts out his hand, and I squeeze some in the center of his huge, callous palm. He presses his hands together.

“Ready? Or are you planning to floss, too?” His lips quirk up. “I can wait, if you want.” He crosses his huge arms in front of his chest.

“You’re funny, Slade.” I shake my head as though he’s ridiculous when, really, I’m holding back my own laughter. Because I do in fact have a miniature floss in my bag. What can I say? I’m serious about clean teeth.

We both turn to leave when a tall, lanky man exits the stall to our right, sweaty and panting as though he just sprinted ten miles.

“I can make you feel good,” he says in a singsong voice, coming at me with yellowed teeth as his grabs at his crotch. Dark, beady eyes roam over my body.

I’m ready to yell when Slade steps to my right, pulling me into his thick chest. “Back up.”

It’s only two words, but they’re said in such a way that the guy spins off, running.

Slade just laughs. “You should have seen your face.”

“He could have killed me!”

He pushes an errant hair from my face. “Don’t you know never to worry when I’m around?”

I look into his eyes and know he’s telling the truth.

“You need a drink.” He smiles playfully, breaking the moment and throwing a heavy arm around my shoulder. He bends down, putting his lips near my ear. “Let’s go.”

I can feel his breath, hot in my ear.

I should play hard to get, right? I take him in and pause. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? There’s no way I’m turning him down. He’s so hot; I can’t even pretend to be unsure.

I open my hand as he reaches for it, and he takes us away from the restrooms. I’m drunk, and he doesn’t want a future. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun tonight, right?

We step onto the dance floor, but this time, I feel no anxiety. I’m hanging on to a man who my bones know would never let me get clobbered. Slade, in all his bigness, plows through dancing fairies, badass-looking demons, and jumpsuit-wearing jailbirds. He’s a man on a mission. My drunk mind wanders to how he probably looks in his uniform. And then without the uniform. The images swirling through my mind have my temperature rising to new heights.

We finally get to the bar where he pulls me close to his side. “Gin, vodka, or tequila?”