A guy stops mid-stride, roaming my body with his eyes, crossing the fine line of flattery to predatory. When Lincoln stared at me, it made me feel beautiful and wanted. This guy makes me feel violated in a way that makes me regret having agreed to wear this outfit. I turn and am about to head for the first sea of people I can disappear into when an arm wraps around my shoulders, and a familiar scent anchors me back to a safe and secure feeling. Lincoln stares at the guy, his threat clear.
