“Did you touch her?” He turns towards the bartender. “Did he touch her?” “Ryan,” I attempt to interrupt. “I had an eye on her,” the bartender says. “Ryan, people are watching.” Finally, his angry stare breaks away from my date. “I don’t give a fuck, Indy.” Just as quickly, his attention swings back to the man behind me. “Did you fucking touch her?” His nostrils flare and if I wasn’t so wrapped up in what’s happening in this moment, I’d give him a pat on the back for pulling off that whole “jealous book boyfriend” thing.
