“I imagine I might find it difficult to personally make the call if you remain intent on rearranging my face, but I have to assume that one of those nice people”—he waved at a cluster of rubbernecking diners on the patio across the street—“might do me a favor and alert the appropriate authorities, once they’ve gotten the show they came for, of course.”
Frat guy wiped his brow and grimaced at the onlookers before lowering his voice.
“I don’t really want this going on, like, my record or whatever. I’m applying for jobs right now.”
“Ah, I see.” Ethan smacked his head in an exaggerated pantomime of enlightenment. He figured adding illustrative hand gestures couldn’t hurt. “Once those recruiters seeconvicted felonon your résumé, they’re hardly going to be able to recommend you. Bet that cab’s sounding better and better, huh?”
With furrowed brows, frat guy seemed to be weighing the bodily demands of an abundance of testosterone versus his career aspirations. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Ethan could work withmaybe. “She’s an incredible person, by the way, that woman in there.”
It might be a stretch to get this guy to recognize Naomi as a human being, but it was worth trying.
“Are you serious, man? That chick? There’s videos of her fucking all over the Internet. I don’t get why she’s acting all high and mighty about keeping covered up now.”
Ben Zoma was really testing Ethan at the moment. He groped for a metaphor to get this jerk to see that he’d actually done something wrong.
“Okay, let’s say you saw Bruce Willis on the street, would you ask him to walk over broken glass barefoot for your entertainment?”
“No...”
“Why not? He did it inDie Hard.”
“’Cause that would be insane,” Lobster Shorts said, crossing his arms petulantly.
“Right. Because what a performer chooses to do on film doesn’t commit them to a lifetime of reenactment on demand for strangers.”
Frat guy kicked his toe across the pavement. “I guess not.”
That was probably the closest Ethan was gonna get.
“I’m going back inside now. Don’t forget about the cab.”
“Hey, wait a second.”
He slowed his footsteps. Was this guy actually grateful to have been shown the error of his ways?
“Just tell me one thing. What’s her pussy taste like?”
Ethan dragged his fingers across his face and stared accusingly toward the heavens. Some men really were hopeless.
“Okay. So this is happening, I guess.” Ethan cocked his fist.Thumb on the outside. Weight on your back foot.
The next thing Ethan knew, he was on the ground, a searing pain across the left side of his face. Through the pulsing agony, he appreciated the bitter irony. Okay, so God didn’t want him to throw any punches.
He pushed up to his elbows with difficulty. “Well, you’re never gonna get that job in finance now.”
His assailant’s fists closing around his collar, lifting him into the air, though unwelcome, were not entirely surprising.
“Hey, asshole,” someone called from the door of the bar. While he considered turning to look at the person whose sentiment he very much shared, keeping his eyes on the man attacking him seemed more prudent.
Whoever was speaking surprised the guy enough that he lost his grip on Ethan’s collar, sending him splaying back against the pavement ass-first with enough force that his teeth rattled. His tailbone screamed in protest, but it was arguably better than getting hit in the face again.
Tilting his chin to survey his savior, Ethan blinked to find Naomi launching an elbow at his assailant’s nose. The crunch of bone meeting cartilage announced she’d met her intended target.
“Bitch,” the guy yelled through a handful of blood.
Apparently, that was the breaking point for the bouncer across the street. He made his way over slowly.