Just a guy. A college-aged guy. Talking to Chloe.
I watched him bend over the table, hands planted on it, his gaze fixed on Chloe, his lips parting in a smile as he said something to her. A slow burn started in my gut, and before I could stop myself, I was barreling down on them, Simon’s protests fading behind me.

And stop doing that,” he said. “Backing away, giving me that look.”
Like you’re scaring me? Maybe you are.”
He stepped back so fast he wobbled and caught himself, and the look on his face—It
vanished in a second, the scowl returning.
I’d never hurt you, Chloe. You should know—” He stopped. Paused. Then wheeled and
started walking away. “Next time? Handle it yourself. I’m done taking care of you.

He balled up my discarded
sweatshirt and put it against his shoulder.
“Go on,” he said. “I don’t bite.”
“And from what I hear, that’s a good thing.”
He gave a rumbling chuckle. “Yeah, it is.”
I leaned against his shoulder.

If there's anything I can do- I know there probably isn't, but..."

Just be here

I'm behind you." I spun to see Derek. "I can't win," he said. "You're as skittish as a kitten.

Derek caught my arm again as I started to move--at this rate, it was going to be as sore as my injured one.
"Dog," he said, jerking his chin toward the fenced yard. "It was inside earlier."
Expecting to see a Doberman slavering at the fence, I followed his gaze to a little puff of white fur, the kind of dog women stick in their purses. It wasn't even barking, just staring at us, dancing in place.
"Oh, my God! It's a killer Pomeranian." I glanced up at Derek. "It's a tough call, but I think you can take him.