I saw an opening in the throng and was making my move when I was sideswiped by a huge man in a Falcons sweatshirt, which sent me slamming into a man on the other side of the aisle.
If the unfortunate crash-victim’s arms hadn’t come out to grab me, my next stop would’ve probably been the sticky floor.
“Thanks. I’m so—” Sorry was the word I’d intended, but my voice died of shock as I looked up into the face of my rescuer.
Larson.
“Kenley. Wow. I’m surprised to see you here. You ran out after work, and I just didn’t expect—did you just get here?”
“Oh. No. I’ve been here awhile. I came with someone. Else. Someone else.” I rushed to add, “But I’m not staying. I’m just going to the restroom, and then I’m leaving.”
“I see. Well, that’s too bad.”
His hands were still wrapped around my biceps. He looked down at me for a few seconds as if searching for the right words. Then he released my arms and reached down for one of my hands.
“Here—I’ll help you get through the crowd.”
Twisting so our joined hands were behind his back, Larson made a path through the bar and delivered me to the ladies’ room door, where there was a line.
Of course. At least it was only three deep. It wasn’t like I had another option—no way my bladder could survive the drive home.
“Well, thanks,” I said, pulling my hand from Larson’s.
Why is he still standing here?
“No problem.” Again he looked down at me with a long pause. “Well, okay then. Have a good night.”
He turned and walked back in the direction of the WNN table.
I let out a breath of relief.
When I came out of the ladies’ room, Larson was back in the hallway.
“I think you’re in the wrong line. I saw the men’s room on the other side of the bar,” I joked, pointing off behind him.
He nodded. “Right. Yeah, I know where it is. I was thinking… you live in the suburbs, right?”
“Alpharetta. Yes.”
“Well, are you okay to drive? I mean, I could give you a ride home if you need one.”
In spite of my complete aversion to Larson and his entire breed, something inside of me responded to his concern. Jason certainly wasn’t looking out for me. I could have consumed several pitchers without his noticing for all the attention he’d paid tonight.
I gave Larson a dismissive wave. “I’m fine. I only had one beer.” As he continued to study me, I added, “Thank you, though. I really do appreciate it, Larson.”
A smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes in that familiar, yummy way. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”
Why does it make him so happy?
When I offered nothing but my usual vocal paralysis, Larson took my hand again.
“If you’re ready to go, I’ll block for you on the way to the exit. Stay close.”
This time holding his hand felt different. I was more aware of its heat, its texture, its size.
Big hands. I’d always liked big hands on a guy. With him leading and forging a path, we made decent progress through the throng.
We’d nearly reached the front door when I heard Jason’s voice.
“Yo! Kenley! Where ya going, Chica? Party’s just getting started.” He pushed his way toward us.
“Hi Jason. I’m heading home. I have to get up early tomorrow for work.”
“So do I. You don’t see me wimping out.” He seemed to suddenly notice Larson’s presence. “Oh, hey man. Hey—you’re that dude on the news, right? Oh, you know my girl, huh?”
Larson’s expression was a mixture of amusement and disgust. “Kenley and I work together. Closely. And you are?”
“Jason Folsom. Her date. Nice, right?” He offered a self-satisfied grin and held his forearm up to Larson for a bro-bump.
Larson just looked at him, his arms remaining at his sides. One eyebrow went up, making him appear like the modern-day aristocrat he was. His tone was blistering.
“Well, your date was nearly tackled by an inebriated giant on the way to the restroom and would’ve been trampled on her way to the door if I hadn’t run into her. And how did you expect her to get to her car back at the parking garage? Were you planning to let her walk alone at night in downtown Atlanta while you stayed here and had another round?”
I sucked in a breath and turned to Larson. My hand went to his chest automatically in a down-boy gesture.
“Larson. It’s fine. The garage is one block away.”
“Yeah, News Dude. Chill. I’ll walk with you, darlin’.”
Jason swayed on his feet and offered me his arm with a drunken smile. “Come on. I’ll just Sir Gallahad you to your car, my lady, and then I’ll come back.”
Larson stepped forward, bumping Jason’s extended arm. “Don’t bother. I’m leaving anyway. My car’s in the same garage. I’ll walk with her.”
He nodded toward the back of the bar. “You can go back to your buddies.”
“Larson,” I protested, baffled at his apparent animosity toward my new friend.
“You didn’t tell me you and Richie Rich had a thing going on.” Jason’s gaze bounced between Larson and me.
“We don’t,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Larson, there’s no need to trouble yourself. Thank you very much—for everything. I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Okay?”
He did not agree it was okay. In fact, he offered no response at all unless you counted narrowed eyes and lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
I turned and went with Jason, who lurched unsteadily toward the exit door. Just before we walked through, I glanced back over my shoulder to see if Larson was still there.
He was.
In fact, he stood in place, his eyes tracking me out the door and across the large front window until I was out of sight.
Five
Off and Out
All through the next workday I felt Larson’s gaze on me.
Sure enough, whenever I’d glance up, he’d be just looking away or he’d drop his head to study something in his hands. It was almost funny. And completely unnerving.
After the show, he must have sprinted from the set because he was out of the studio and at my desk in the newsroom within minutes.
“Have fun on your date last night?” His tone was more challenging than curious.
I looked up from my computer where I’d been logging off. “Sure. Jason’s a lot of fun.”
Or he had been until he’d consumed all the alcohol in Georgia.
“Well, I’m glad you made it home okay. I was concerned you’d end up carrying him back to the parking garage or watching him puke his guts out on the sidewalk.”
I wrinkled my nose at the mental image. All those chicken wings. “No, thankfully. He was a tad over-served, but we made it to the garage okay. He didn’t go back to the bar, though. I gave him a ride home.”
In fact, he’d passed out in my car, and I’d had to prop him up on the way to his front door.
Not that I was going to share those details with Larson.