Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [60]
I shook my head.
He sighed. “What am I supposed to tell him?”
“Tell him he can kiss my ass.”
208
Big Mike straightened to his full six-feet-six height; his eyes flattened to hard disks. He turned and stalked off.
“Was that smart?” Kevin asked.
“Probably not.”
He mumbled something about a death wish.
I fidgeted in the seat. Thought about smoking another cigarette. Seriously considered ordering another shot. As my indecision wore on, the noise from the pool games and the dance floor escalated.
“Go,” Kevin said.
“What message would that send him? That
he can command my presence whenever the hell he wants? Fuck that.” I crossed my arms over my chest, the picture of belligerent.
Kevin grinned in that devilish way that still charmed me. “Sounds like a perfect opportunity to tell him how you feel.”
“You’re just egging me on because I’m still halfdrunk.”
“Yep.”
I crammed my crap back in my purse and buttoned up my coat. “Come looking for me if I’m not back here in five. Seriously.” I bussed Kevin’s forehead on my way past the booth. I’d missed hanging out with him. In trying to dodge the flurry of twirling bodies and cowboy hats on the dance floor, someone bumped into me. Hard.
“Watch where the fuck you’re goin’, bitch.”
209
I faced the snarling voice. Wow. The woman had the biggest nose and ears I’d seen outside a zoo. “You talking to me?”
“Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you.”
“You bumped into me.”
“So?” Her big nostrils flared revulsion like a skunk crossed her path. “Maybe that means you oughta get the fuck out of my way.” She pushed me.
Bad move.
I shoved her back with enough force she fell on her fat ass. “Now I’m out of your way. Stay out of mine.”
Her dance partner lifted her by her jiggly upper arms, holding her back while she screeched at me. My head pounded as I exited the bar.
The chill of the night air slapped my cheeks and quickened my pace. I tightened the belt on my coat and lowered my face into the lapels.
Screw this. Too damn cold to stay out here and fight with Martinez.
I spun around, a little unsteadily, to see Dumbo storming outside the exit, glaring. I figured she didn’t really want to engage me. She’d act tough, keep a safe distance, and taunt me. I’d let her. But if she opened her trap and yapped insults, I would take a shot at her. The reality was, few women went beyond nasty words to deliver a nasty uppercut.
Reality check: she barreled toward me like a Sherman tank.
210
I braced myself as best as I could, considering my balance was slightly off. When she reached me, I stepped sideways and rammed my elbow in her chest. She didn’t see that one coming. Wham. She hit the ground like a brick.
I gloated above her. “Enough? Or do you want more?”
“Fuck you,” she wheezed and grabbed my ankle, knocking me on my butt.
Even in my bleary-eyed state, I managed to make a safe fall. Hadn’t injured anything but my pride. Before I’d recovered my wits, she rose to her knees and took a swing at me.
I ducked, but not fast enough; her row of Black Hills Gold rings caught me in the right eyebrow like trailer park brass knuckles. Sharp, stinging pain galvanized me into 211
action. I rolled and wobbled to my feet.
“Yeah, run,” she jeered. “Just like she said. You ain’t so tough. You know I’ll kick your ass.”
I ignored the weird “she” comment and repeated,
“Run?”
“That was a lucky shot, and you know it.”
“Bring it, Dumbo.” I planted my feet in a right-side fighting stance. Resisted the urge to give her the “come on” signal Neo used in The Matrix before he fought Agent Smith. That’d be over the top, even for me. The alcohol veil lifted. Why was I standing there like a cheesy movie hero giving her a second chance to rush me?
Fuck that.
I should’ve punched her in the nose since it was such an easy target. Instead, I pounced on her and gave her a dirt facial. Her head bounced. Her cutesy pink hair ribbon dropped to the ground. Grabbing her right arm, I jerked it straight up and put my