causes both the man and woman to jerk their heads in my direction. No sooner do I brake to a stop at the curb, I am out of the car, charging forward without thinking. It doesn’t occur to me that what I am doing could be potentially unsafe.
“Hey,” I say, forceful. The guy—way too old to be with this girl, who’s only got to be in her early twenties—stares at me with an annoyed expression. My gaze goes from him to the girl, who is definitely cowering. My gut tells me that this isn’t a father dealing with an out-of-control daughter, but something else.
“Are you okay?” I ask the girl.
“Mind your own business.” This from the man.
I walk straight up to the girl. “Are you okay?” I repeat.
The shake of her head is slight. She’s afraid of this man.
“Look, lady.” The guy is pissed. “This is a private matter.”
I whirl to face him, putting my body between him and the frightened female. “How old are you?” I ask, an accusation.
“What?”
“You should be damned ashamed of yourself.” I turn to face the girl. “Come with me.”
“Excuse me?” the man says, outraged.
“I’ll take you someplace safe,” I go on. “Anywhere you want to go.”
The girl nods, and we begin to move. I don’t even notice that the man is approaching me until he has a firm hold of my arm. “If you know what’s good for you—”
I pull my arm from him so harshly that he actually staggers backward. I’m not sure where I’ve gotten the courage to be so tough. This isn’t me. I’m out of my element. But I stand up to this man, one who clearly likes to dominate young women.
“Touch me again, and it’ll be the last thing you do.” I’m amazed at the words that come from my mouth. Did I hear that line in a movie? When the hell have I become this kick-ass type of chick?
As I begin to doubt my feigned bravado, the man takes a step backward and even raises both hands in an attempt to show me that he isn’t dangerous.
I’m amazed that my words have had their intended effect.
“Sasha,” the man says, his tone soft. He is trying the nice-guy approach now. “Sasha, you know I didn’t mean it.”
I place a hand on Sasha’s back and guide her to my car. Looking back over my shoulder, I give the jerk a warning glance. It says, Don’t even think of making a move, you piece of shit.
I open the passenger door and Sasha climbs inside. Then I quickly round the car to the driver’s side and get behind the wheel. Thank God, the man stands on the sidewalk and watches, not making a move to come toward the car. Quickly, I shift the gear stick in my car and send the BMW flying into traffic.
I drive for about a minute without speaking. Then I glance at my passenger, whose eyes are focused on her lap.
“Hey,” I say gently. “You’re okay now.”
She faces me. Nods.
“Was that guy your boyfriend?”
Another nod.
“He’s a bit … old. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Sasha’s voice is soft, vulnerable.
Sasha’s phone rings. In her eyes, I see fear. It must be the boyfriend’s number.
“Don’t answer it,” I tell her.
Sasha worries her bottom lip, clearly torn and unsure what to do. “Don’t,” I reiterate. “Whatever happened, let him cool off. At least.”
Sasha raises the phone, and I mentally scream, No, no, no! But instead of answering the phone, she presses the button to turn it off.
Good, I think. That’s good.
Another minute or so passes. I’m not sure what to say to this girl. I don’t want to come off as preachy, but I also want her to know that she can open up to me. “I’m Claudia, by the way.”
“Do you always run to people’s rescue like that?” Sasha asks.
“Actually, never.” Thinking of my actions, I’m still surprised. “But I couldn’t keep driving … not when it looked like you needed help.”
The girl nods.
“Where should I take you?” I ask.
She tells me an address south of midtown.
“You don’t live with him, do you?”
“No.”
“Good.” I pause to negotiate a turn. “Where we’re going … it’s someplace safe?”
“Yeah. My sister’s place.”
She’s younger than I first thought, no more than twenty, and I can’t help wondering where her parents are. Not in the picture? Deceased, maybe? And how is it that her sister is allowing her to be out with a man more than twice her age?
There’s a story there. “Listen, if you ever need to chat. Or if you’re ever in trouble and want to talk to me, I want you to know that you can call me.”
“Why?” Sasha asks, sounding skeptical.
Why indeed? I have never done anything like this before. But something about this girl speaks to me. I’m not sure why.
“Because we all need someone to talk to from time to time. I’m a good listener.” I smile.
The girl nods, then looks forward again. After a while, she tells me to turn right. I do, and she continues to guide me the rest of the way to her sister’s building.
It’s not posh, but neither is it run-down.
Her fingers curl around the door handle. Before she can open it, I say, “Wait a second. Let me put my number into your phone.”
Sasha hands me her phone, and I enter my name and number. As I pass it back to her I say, “I don’t know what the deal is with your boyfriend, but it’s obvious you were afraid of him. If he comes around tonight—or any other time—don’t be afraid to call the police.” I’ve got a pretty good idea what this man is like, and he reminds me of Annelise’s sister Samera’s ex-boyfriend, Reed. Men who feel like they possess you are the most dangerous of all. There’s no telling what they’ll do. “Or, like I said, you can call me. Whatever you do, be safe.”
I wonder if my words have gotten through to Sasha at all, or if she’s going to exit my car and immediately call the man I rescued her from. It wouldn’t surprise me.
But as much as I fear she’ll do that, I also know that the hard sell to stay away from him—words from a stranger, no less—might just have the opposite effect on her and send her running right back to him.
So I drive away from her sister’s apartment, happy that I’ve done a good deed. One that has helped—at least somewhat—to dull the memory of my date with Mark.
Chapter four
Annelise
“I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO ESCAPE,” CLAUDIA SAYS. “I’m not going to meet anyone in this city who doesn’t know about my engagement to Adam. And … some of the things we did. Everyone’s so damn interested … as if they’re all virgins, or something. Probably all closet freaks themselves,” she adds with a scowl.
“Exactly,” I tell her. “Please, sweetie, don’t let them get to you. Mark is clearly an asshole, and it’s better that he let you know his true nature on your first date, rather than your tenth.”
“I know.” Claudia sighs. “All the same, maybe I ought