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Michael cried out, the colour fading from his face as he grabbed his stomach and bent over, coughing and gagging.
Hal watched silently, and when Savina staggered over to them, he stepped neatly in front of her, trying to ignore the feel of her soft weight as she crowded up against his back. “Hal, don’t hurt him.”
“Too late,” Hal said. He knew Savina could hear the satisfaction in his voice, but fuck it. The guy shouldn’t have spoken to her that way.
Savina pushed past him and touched Michael’s shoulder. “Michael, are you -”
“Don’t you fucking touch me,” Michael snarled before coughing again. He straightened and one hand clasped across his stomach, glared at the both of them. “What the fuck, grandpa? You have to sucker punch me to win the fight?”
Hal rolled his eyes as Savina said, “That wasn’t a sucker punch, you moron. You tried to hit him first.”
“Whatever,” Michael snapped. He staggered toward his car and flipped them both the bird before climbing in and driving away in a squeal of tires and spray of gravel.
Savina groaned and rubbed at her forehead. She swayed on her feet, and Hal took her upper arm. He could feel hard muscle beneath his grip - Savina was no delicate flower - but there was softness too. So much sweet softness. He looked her up and down. Instead of her usual jeans and shirt combo, she wore a light green dress that hugged her breasts and flared around her hips. Her dress ended just above her knee, and he stared at her bare calves. Her skin looked smooth and silky soft, and he wondered how it’d feel to have those legs hooked around his ass, her soft body cushioning his as he pounded into her over and over until he’d finally satisfied his endless ache for her.
His dick twitched in his pants, and guilt immediately rushed in. Lusting after his dead best friend’s wife didn’t exactly make him a real fucking Prince Charming, did it?
“Hal.” Savina’s voice sounded breathless and unsure. He was still staring at her tits like a pervert, and he forced his gaze to her face. For a moment, he thought he saw the same need, the same deep-seated desire reflected in her eyes and his cock hardened and pushed painfully against his jeans.
Savina looked away for a second, and when her pretty dark eyes returned to his, the desire, if it had ever really been there, was gone. He dropped his hand from her arm and smiled tersely at her. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, then shook her head. “Scratch that. I’m tired and humiliated and drunk.”
“You need to dump your boyfriend,” he said.
She laughed, the sound bitter and jagged in the cool night air. “He’s not my boyfriend. It was a first date.”
“Don’t see him again,” he said.
“I’m not stupid,” she snapped.
God, he fucking loved her temper.
She sighed and rubbed at her forehead again. “Sorry. Thank you for your help, Hal. I’ll see you around.”
“You can’t drive home, Savina.” He sounded angry. Hell, he was furious. What had she been thinking getting drunk on a first date with a guy she didn’t know? It was reckless and stupid, and that wasn’t Savina. She was the most level-headed and intelligent woman he knew.
“I’m aware of that,” she said.
He tamped down his urge to lecture her. She didn’t belong to him, and even if she did, it was patriarchal bullshit to think he could tell her what she could and couldn’t do. But knowing that didn’t help quell the anger inside of him. What would have happened if he hadn’t been here? Savina was strong, but the guy had been bigger than her, and she’d had too much to drink. What if he’d forced Savina to -
Hal shut that thought down immediately. If he didn’t, he would spend the rest of his life searching for that Michael fucker and beating the shit out of him when he found him.
His urge to lecture her, to scold her as if she were a child, reared its ugly head again. He swallowed it like bitter medicine and took Savina’s arm when she started to walk away. “You’ve had too much to drink to drive.”
“I know,” she said, her temper lurking like a shadow in her words. “I’m calling an Uber.”
“I’ll drive you home,” he said.
Happiness flickered across her face. “Did you ride your bike here?”
“Yes, but I don’t have an extra helmet with me. I’ll drive you home in your truck.”
Her happiness faded like a dying star, and he hated that, but he wouldn’t risk her safety. “Give me your keys.”
She handed them over, and they walked silently to her truck. He wished she would weave again, or even stumble a little, any excuse to get his hands on her again. The guilt rolled in, relentless as the tide, and he wished, not for the first time, that he could shed its heavy weight. But that was nothing more than a pipe dream.
She climbed into the truck’s passenger side, and he shut the door before sliding behind the wheel. Her vehicle started with a low rumble, and he drove out of the lot, the headlights cutting through the darkness.
