Page 7 of My All American Girl

“Sit down, Little Bit,” he sneered.

“How about you make me, asshole?” I shot back.

The guy blinked, taken aback. “What did you just say?”

I grinned at him. “I said your mouth is like a flappy asshole with nothing but bad air coming out.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension. There was a collective holding of breath from around the room as everyone waited to see what would happen next.

Then he laughed.

And not just a chuckle, but a full-on belly laugh. It held no humor in it. He leaned in close to me, his booze-soaked breath curling around my face. “How’s my breath smell now, bitch?”

Sure, he was bigger than me and a guy, but I wasn’t worried about who was a boy or who was a girl. The guy was a prick starting trouble and bad guys needed to be taught a lesson. I joined the Air Force because I believed in fighting for what’s right. Sometimes that meant defending your country, and sometimes it meant knocking a bully on his ass.

Everything slowed down. I blocked out all the noise coming from the crowded bar. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the music and the low murmur of conversation around us. The world reduced to me and him, circling each other like two predators sizing each other up.

He straightened up, his drunken smirk never leaving his face. He was trying to intimidate me, but all I saw was a man who was too drunk to know when he was picking a fight he couldn’t win.

His friends formed a wall behind him. Puffed up with false bravado. They were just as drunk and foolish as he was. This was not their fight, but they were all too eager to jump in. One of them, a tall brute with a shaved head and arms covered with tattoos, started to roll up his sleeves, revealing bulging muscles. I felt a flicker of doubt, but I squashed it down.

“Back off, little girl,” he spat. “You don’t want this.”

“You’re right.” I nodded. “Like every single woman in here, I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He shoved me and it was game on.

I stumbled backward a step but was quick to regain my footing. I gave him a hard look, my lip curling into a defiant smile. “You’ll regret that.”

He shrugged cockily and took a swing at me, but his movements were sluggish, distorted by the alcohol. I saw his fist coming a mile away. Swiftly, I sidestepped, grabbed his outstretched arm, and used his own momentum to swing him around and slam him unceremoniously onto one of the tables.

Bottles crashed onto the floor, shattering into a thousand shards. It was chaos, but in that moment, I felt alive.

I lost my cool, my fists flying as I unleashed a flurry of punches, fueled by adrenaline and a healthy dose of liquid courage. The bar erupted into chaos, shouts and curses mingling with the sound of breaking glass.

I was scrappy, always had been, and I wasn’t about to back down from a fight. Maddie tried to hold me back, but I was in the thick of it. Laughing, I traded blows with the assholes that started the shit. He had shoved me. That was all it took.

When my fist connected with the guy’s face, the satisfying thud of impact drowned out everything else. But the satisfaction was short-lived as the brawl escalated, chairs flying and bodies crashing to the floor. I couldn’t stop laughing. I probably should have walked away, but it was too good. I didn’t even feel the pain in my knuckles.

Before I knew it, the bouncers were dragging us out of the bar. It was wild and exhilarating, but as we stumbled out onto the street, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. Our night had been cut short, our celebration ruined by a stupid bar fight.

“You are nuts,” Maddie said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “But I didn’t get to finish my beer.”

She giggled. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Hey, I’m going to call for a ride,” one of my friends said.

“Let me see your hand,” Maddie said, jerking my hand into the light.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she scolded.

“I didn’t do it. He started it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to finish it.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, if the guy can’t back his shit-talking up, he shouldn’t get started.”

Soon enough, we piled into a rideshare, still buzzing from the rush of the brawl. The ride back to the academy was filled with laughter as we replayed the events of the evening. We considered going to another bar, but it was already late, and we were all drunk. It was unlikely we would get served.

We pulled up to the gates of the academy and climbed out. We all went our separate ways. I started the walk to my dorm on my own. Everyone else was staying off campus. My knuckles throbbed with pain as I walked. But I was smiling.

A car pulled up alongside me, and the driver rolled down the window. “Need a ride?” he asked.

I didn’t bother to glance over, flipping him the bird in response. “I prefer to walk,” I retorted. “And I don’t get in cars with strangers.”

He laughed. “Stranger, huh?”

Curiosity got the better of me. I turned to lock eyes with the driver, only to freeze in surprise when I realized who it was.

Dean Ryker.

He stopped the car and leaned across the passenger seat, opening the door with a smirk. “Get in,” he said, his voice low and commanding.