Pas de Deux: Part One (A Cross and Pointe Novel Book 1) (12 page)

“Yeah, he doesn’t spend hours a week talking to her or anything,” Baz said, making Matthews chuckle. “He doesn’t spend the rest of the time talking
about
her, either.”

Cillian shook his head at Matthews. “He’s bein’ dumb, it ain’t even like that.”

“Why not?” Matthews seemed genuinely confused. “She’s a beautiful girl, she seems cool. That ain’t your type? What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” he replied testily. “Who said I had a problem?”

“Oh, Jesus.” Matthews chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Here we go. No need to get all defensive, dude.”

“Dude, you don’t have a problem.” Baz patted the air reassuringly. “You’re just a huge fucking pussy. That’s all.”

“Fuck you,” Cillian shot back. At that moment, Sammi returned to the table, carrying a tray with three pint glasses filled with beer.

“Hey, you’re our own personal waitress, too?” Baz grinned and winked. “And here I thought you were just the barkeep.”

“The other girls are busy with the frat boys in the corner, so I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”

She placed their glasses in front of them and Cillian shifted uncomfortably as he looked at his practically overflowing glass. Sammi didn’t miss the look on his face.

“You want something else? It’s no problem. Do you like liquor instead?”

He leaned in so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music, close enough that he could smell her perfume and a sweeter scent that came from her hair. “Actually, can I just get a club soda with lime?”

She lifted her brows in surprise. “Of course. Sorry, I didn’t realize…” Her hand hovered over the glass.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Baz reached out to stop her. “You leave that. He’s training, he doesn’t get to drink. But we do.”

“Oh. Training. That’s right.” Her face visibly relaxed, and for a moment, Cillian wondered if she’d thought he was an alcoholic. She smiled, pushing his glass to the middle of the table. “I’ll let you guys fight it out. Club soda with lime coming right up.”

Sammi brought him the drink in record time, and returned to the bar after placing a couple bowls of snacks in front of them.

As the guys chatted, trading MMA and deployment stories, Cillian’s eyes kept straying over to Sammi. She seemed perfectly comfortable behind the bar, expertly mixing drinks, pouring beers, garnishing cocktails, all while dancing idly to whatever song was playing.

The main card for the fight came down on TV, and he watched the two middleweights duke it out for the championship belt and millions of dollars.

That gonna be me next month? One of the last two standing?

Sammi came by a few times, bringing refills of beer and snacks. Each time she came over, they locked gazes, smiling. He liked the way her eyes moved over him; it wasn’t conceit that told him she liked what he saw. It was the look in her eyes.

After the fight, which resulted in Baz owing Cillian lunch for an entire week, they decided to call it a night. Cillian glanced at his watch and noted that it was about time for the lounge to close, too. He went over and leaned on the bar when he noticed that Sammi wasn’t waiting on any customers and was wiping down the counter.

“Hey.”

She glanced up at him and shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey.” She nodded at their empty table. “You guys have a good time?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it was cool. Thanks again for the free beers.”

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “Kind of an idiotic offer, now that I think about it, since you don’t drink.”

“Just for now. I’m training, so—strict diet, no alcohol, all that shit. But the other guys enjoyed it, and it was really nice of you. Hope your boss won’t mind.”

“Not at all.” She grinned. “He’s not here, so, it’s perfectly fine. You want anything else?”

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good. You leavin’ here soon?”

“Yeah. I don’t have to stay for closing duties tonight, but I want to wait for these assholes to get going. A couple of them really upset some of the girls.”

She nodded toward the group of obnoxious guys, and Cillian turned to see them very slowly making their way toward the door, continuing to cajole some of the waitresses, who weren’t being nearly as tolerant as they had earlier; last-call was over and they’d gotten their tips.

“Well, lemme give you a ride home. Matthews and I drove together, and I gotta drop him off anyway. Unless your girl is comin’ to pick you up?”

“No, Jazz and her boyfriend are doing date night. I don’t want to interrupt. I’m just gonna take the bus.”

Cillian frowned and shook his head. “No. No bus. I’ll take you home.” He noticed the group of guys had moved outside where they loitered noisily near the entrance. He turned back to Sammi. “Why don’t you get your stuff and come outside? I’ll go get the truck.”

Sammi frowned uncertainly. “The North End is not super close. I hate to impose.”

“You’re not, I offered. Meet you outside.”

He turned and walked off to collect Matthews, where he was hunched over, texting on his phone, hardly noticing when Cillian approached. “C’mon, bro.” Cillian clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get the car. I’m taking Sammi home, too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“No, I mean I’m literally taking her home. That’s all.” Cillian shook his head. “I just don’t want her taking the bus by herself that far late at night.”

“Hey, I support this. My buddy gettin’ a girl? Hell, yeah.”

Cillian couldn’t help laughing out loud at that one. “Gettin’ way ahead of yourself.” He threw an arm around his friend’s neck and yanked him toward the door. “Now, come on. We gotta report at oh-dark-thirty tomorrow and Lieutenant Reed is not gonna be happy if you’re late.”

Cillian shoved the door open, blinking at the group of annoying guys still standing around outside, smoking and bullshitting. He didn’t spare them another glance, shouldering roughly past them.

“Hey, that’s the dude! The war-hero dude. He was on ESPN the other day, he’s goin’ to the big MMA thing in New York. Holy shit, bro, can I have your autograph?”

A chorus of laughs erupted from them when neither Cillian nor Matthews turned around to acknowledge the speaker.

“Asshole,” the guy shouted, slurring his words. “You ain’t shit. Probably made the whole thing up anyway.” More drunken laughter.

Cillian slowed to a stop and clenched his jaw, his fists balling involuntarily.

Made it up? You piece of fucking shit…

“Calm down, man,” Matthews said quietly. “Let’s just get to the car.”

They reached Cillian’s shiny black double-cab F-150 and Matthews climbed into the backseat and Cillian looked at him curiously.

“What’re you doing?”

Matthews frowned at him. “Don’t make that girl sit in the back, dude. Fuck is wrong with you?”

Cillian backed the truck out of the stall and carefully pulled out into the street. As he pulled up closer to the bar, he frowned. Sammi was standing just outside the door, and the crowd of guys had closed in around her.

“What’s this?” Matthews murmured.

Cillian expected her to shove through them to the truck; she was a bartender, and he figured she was used to dealing with drunk, obnoxious men.

Why’s she just standing there?

But the look on her face stopped him; she was frozen in place, her eyes huge with the same fear he’d seen the night of her attack at the gym, and she stared blankly in front of her as two guys leaned in close, flanking her.

Fuck
.

Abruptly, Cillian thrust the gear shift into park and jumped out.

Sammi hurried to the back of the lounge to get her jacket and bag, grateful for the offer of a ride home; truthfully, the idea of traveling at least an hour on a smelly bus with the weirdos this late at night freaked her out more than she cared to admit.

“You guys okay?” she called to the other girls. One of them waved back to her.

“Yeah. You stayed wicked late every night last week. Go on, Sam. We got it.”

Sammi smiled over her shoulder. “All right. Have a good night, ladies.”

She headed toward the door, feeling the cool blast of air breeze in from outside as she pushed it open. Immediately, her stomach clenched.

Several of the guys from the obnoxious group were outside still, smoking and drunkenly cavorting in front of the lounge.

“Damn, there she is,” one of the guys said and all eyes turned toward her as her heart sank into her stomach. “That’s the one I liked. I been wantin’ you all night, honey. How come you never came over to talk to us?”

“Holy shit, you’re right, Shane,” another one chimed in from the other side. “Hey, baby, it’s still early. Why don’t you come over for a drink and we can get to know each other real well?”

At once, they all started speaking at her, and her eyes shifted from side to side as she hugged her bag to her chest. Their faces blurred, their voices grew distant, and her heart jerked oddly in her chest, beating fast, then slow. She felt hot and cold, her breathing heaved and hitched, and tremors took hold of her muscles.

Their bodies closed in around her and Sammi stared ahead, unseeing. As a hand touched her shoulder, a single tear formed in one eye and slipped down her cheek. A second hand landed on her back, sliding down to her hip. Her vision speckled with black dots, and she felt like she might throw up or faint.

Move! Yell! Get away! Do something!

Her body continued to disobey, keeping her rooted in place. She felt hot breath on her ear, heard the low murmur of a voice, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wanting either the ability to move or to die, right then.

“Sam.”

The familiar deep voice was cold, hard, and angry. The strength of that one word made her eyes fly open as every head swiveled toward the voice.

He called me Sam. He never calls me Sam.

Cillian stood on the sidewalk a dozen feet away. His face held an expression that frightened her—the deepest, calmest anger she’d ever seen. He stared at no one but her.

She took a breath that felt like the first one after almost drowning, and her vision cleared. The light feeling in her brain dissipated. The urge to faint passed. The nausea unclenched her stomach.

“Come here.”

The words were still hard, but there was a gentleness to them. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, the panic subsiding, and stepped forward, focusing on his face. Suddenly, his eyes shifted sharply to her right and he pointed at someone just past her shoulder.

“Don’t even fucking think about it.” The warning and danger in his voice frightened her, and she didn’t dare look over her shoulder.
Just worry about putting one foot in front of the other. Just get to him.

Cillian held his hand out to her. “Come here. Come on.”

She stared at his hand, her heart thudding erratically in her chest.
I just have to reach that, and then I’m safe.

When she was close enough, she stiffly reached out and grabbed his hand. It was warm and dry, slightly rough from years of work with his hands. He moved her quickly in front of him, turning so that he shielded her from the group. She looked up at him and he squeezed her hand reassuringly, giving her a quick, taut smile as he opened the door for her.

“Get in.”

Sammi climbed into the passenger seat, her bag on her lap as she clutched herself, trying to make the trembling stop. She didn’t miss the look Cillian exchanged with his friend in the backseat as he started the truck and pulled off.

Doing her best to be inconspicuous, she fumbled through her bag for her meds, locating the pill bottle, and twisted off the top. She tapped two pills onto her palm and popped them into her mouth, feeling Cillian’s eyes on her.

“What’s that?”

“Aspirin.”

“Oh.”

He held her gaze for a moment, letting her have the lie. Sammi leaned her head against the seat, staring out window while she waited for the medication to start working, losing track of time and space. She roused herself when the truck pulled up in front of a nice-looking apartment complex, and Matthews got out, Cillian following. Sammi watched as they clasped hands in a bro-like manner.

“See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you. Nice meeting you,” Matthews added, looking through the window at Sammi.

She gave him a little wave. “You, too.”

Cillian climbed back in the truck. “You need anything before I take you home?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.” After a few minutes of driving, she glanced over at him. “You know where you’re going?”

“North End. Other than that, nope.”

Sammi guided him through the neighborhood to her apartment on Hanover and Prince, which was about a half-mile from the café. When he pulled to a stop, she reached for the door handle and turned to him, intending to thank him for the ride.

Why’s he taking off his seatbelt? What’s happening?

“I’ll walk you to your door.” His tone offered no room for refusal.

Her stomach clenched with stress as he followed her.
Now he knows where you live
. She never wanted anyone outside her family except Jazz knowing that.