Oops.
And to makes thing even more ominous, the last bits of sunlight are disappearing behind the buildings and skyscrapers around me, as if retreating just to make a point of my tardiness.
I pull out my phone and realize I’m not too horribly far from home, so I map it and flip a U-turn, heading back.
But just as I do, I nearly bump into three guys who are walking up right behind me.
“Well, well, what’s the rush, sweetheart?” I look up as surprise registers on their expressions for a moment, followed by something much more sinister.
They’re all in suits, though with their ties off and buttons in various amounts of undoneness, I can tell these three are probably a bit drunk. I just wish they weren’t blocking the whole sidewalk.
“Excuse me,” I exclaim, trying to make my way around them. But like cowboys herding cattle, they move to surround me, cutting me off.
Gross.
“You look thirsty. Wanna go get a drink?” the tallest, with short brown hair, asks.
“We know a place just around the corner,” the shortest, who reminds me of a male weasel, says in what I can only guess is his best attempt at being inviting.
“Just out for a run. Last time I looked, I wasn’t wearing a sign saying ‘open season,’” I reply dryly. I make another move to go, but they draw closer.
The first just lurks close to me, eyes roving over me without shame. “I don’t know. Lonely girl like you out here alone. Dark outside. Gives a man ideas…” He trails off.
“Last warning, guys. I’m not here to mess around,” I reply. My heart’s racing, but not from fear. More from just sheer anger at the arrogance in front of me.
“Who said we were?” The tall one’s hand shoots out, grabbing me by the arm, yanking me forward.
Instantly, I twist my elbow and push his wrist off my arm with my free hand. The motion pushes him back momentarily, but instead of shock or remorse, I just see more rage than he has any right to be feeling.
His brow furrows, lips turning down in a sneer. But before he can take more than a single step toward me, both arms outstretched, I kick my leg up into his junk.
The man howls in pain as my sneaker smashes into him, and immediately, he keels over, hands over his crotch.
A moment later, the weaselly one tries to grab me too, as if I’m the last freaking item on the seventy-five percent off discount rack at Best Buy.
With my open palm, I drive the heel of my hand into his chin, pushing upward. His head flies back, much harder than I think would normally happen given my height and weight.
Then again, I’m stronger than most everyone else around me. I just keep that part to myself.
I make a fist and sock him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him as he collapses onto the ground next to his moaning friend.
Wasn’t there a third?
I look up just as the last guy is pulling something out of his back pocket. But with the darkness falling, I can’t make out what it is.
Nor do I have time, because from the shadows to the guy’s left, a big arm suddenly appears, yanking him out of my sight and dragging him with shocking ease into what must have been a little alcove I didn’t see.
I just stand there a little flabbergasted by the sound of a heavy whack, followed by a muffled oof.
Then nothing.
Spooky.
I hear footsteps, and a second later, a tall figure rounds the corner. I put my arms up, ready for anything at this point.
“Whoa, easy there, Eva.” Familiar voice. Familiar face.
My eyes adjust to the sight of Tanner right in front of me. Only, he’s wearing running pants that hug tight quads and show off trim hips. His shirt hugs his pecs and arms, and he’s looking at me with a calm, appraising smile.
I put my fists down slowly. Perhaps no more beatdowns needed today.
“I…” It takes a moment for me to compose myself. I can still hear quiet groaning from the lump on my right, though it’s getting quieter. “What are you doing here, Tanner?”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” In spite of his amused tone, there’s a hint of worry at the edge of his sentence.
Did he take that third guy down without a word? He doesn’t look like he broke even the slightest sweat if he did.
“Running. Just running.” I let out a long breath, my body finally catching up and boarding the “we’re all okay here” train.
Next stop, home.
He takes a step forward, putting his hands in his pockets. His jacket only comes midway down his forearms, and I can see rippling, corded muscle there.
Maybe it’s just the exertion or the scare I just had, but my body is warming up from the inside out.
“Funny place to be running at a time like this.”
“Yes, well, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
He smirks. “I saw that.”
“You still didn’t answer my question about what you were doing here.” I fold my arms, trying to be big next to him. The passed-out guy starts to move, and I start shuffling away, not wanting to be around when they decide to get up.
“Just running. Like you.” He falls in step next to me, taking long, easy strides that cover double the distance I can make.
“Hm, funny that you just happened to be running not far behind me. Are you sure you’re not some sort of stalker?” I reply playfully.
Though, to be honest, it’s nice to have a familiar face next to me right now.
Even if I would have most likely been all right by myself, I don’t enjoy confrontations like that. And being around Tanner is giving me something else to focus on right now.
Like those pecs gently bouncing up and down.
He laughs again at my remark. “I’m absolutely certain.”
“Well, if you aren’t stalking and you really just happened to be running out here—which I doubt—then would you like to join me?” I ask, feeling oddly shy about it.
“Just lead the way,” he says with that heart-stopping grin. His dark hair is a little more mussed than when I last remember seeing it, and my hand practically itches to know what it feels like right now.
I pick up into my normal running pace, grateful to be headed home, and he matches my speed easily.
Granted, to look as good as he does, the guy probably runs a half marathon and does a million crunches before breakfast.
“So how was your first day at Qualtechnics?” I ask, making conversation.
“My favorite part was meeting the chief human relations officer, definitely,” he says so matter-of-factly I almost trip on a patch of uneven cement.
“Are you always this flattering? Or are you just being nice because you know I didn’t want to hire you?”
“Neither,” he replies coolly. Man, he could be standing still for the lack of effort this run seems to take for him. “In fact, I think ‘nice’ is the last word my friends would use to describe me.”
“How would they describe you, then?” It feels like the interview I should have given had I not been biased.
But I still hate him.
A little.
“Loyal. Competent. A capable warrior.” He looks into the distance as he speaks, giving me a short chance to take in his gorgeous profile.
I’m assuming he means warrior in a metaphorical sense, like in the corporate world.