CHAPTER 4

She sees me from about twenty feet away and acknowledges my presence at about ten, rising to her feet and folding herself into my embrace. Heads turn as the most beautiful woman in the club kisses the tallest and most intimidating man. (I know I'm not the most handsome, but I seem to do okay). This is the payoff for all the time, money and effort that I've put in to make myself over into the kind of guy that can rule the roost at a place like this.

"I wanna dance," Destinee says. I nod and offer her my arm.

The dance floor is an epileptic's worst nightmare, with its brilliant, flashing strobes. I'm certain that the sheer volume of the pounding beat must interfere with the dancers' cardiac functions as well. Real estate is at a premium since it's a Friday night, but at my size, the crowd gives way and we take over a spot in the middle of the action.

Destinee is a good dancer, and this is where she looks her best. She really is a gorgeous woman. In fact, exactly the kind of woman I've dreamed of since my first stirrings of puberty. Her large, full breasts are only barely restrained by her bright yellow dress and appear ready to break containment at any moment. The men around us seem to be anticipating such an event and apparently want to be sure they don't miss it. I suppose that most guys would get jealous, seeing so many men looking at their girlfriend's chest with barely disguised lust, but for me, that's the whole point.

After a few songs, Destinee leans forward, brushing those outsized boobs across my chest, and yells in my ear. "I'm thirsty." I nod, knowing the routine. I kiss her lightly, then she heads for our table as I make my way to the bar.

Destinee is a Piña Colada kind of girl. When I approach, the bartender waves me past the line and around to the side where he already has one ready to go, along with a double shot of what everyone but the bartender and I think is Vodka. The Time Zone doesn't, as a rule, allow people to run a tab, but they break that rule for me. Rumors have circulated that I might be connected to the Russian mafia (ludicrous), but drinking only "vodka" and occasionally using the still fluent language of my childhood does nothing to dispel that gossip.

As I approach our table, there's already a guy perched on my chair, hitting on Destinee. She gives me a helpless look, but I know better. She needs to have guys want her.

I know just what to do in this circumstance. I painstakingly researched it and worked it out years ago, and I've done it dozens of times since.

I sit the drinks down on the table and put my hand on his shoulder, not too hard, but not just resting there either. My hands are almost freakishly large, even in proportion to my outsized frame, and I can feel his shock at how far my fingers extend down his chest while my thumb lands on his shoulder blade.

He turns, his face saying he already knows I'm a big guy, but his eyes go wide when he realizes just how big.

He's not a regular (obviously, or he would have known better than to have hit on my girlfriend in the first place), but he's a good-looking guy in a slightly rough-cut kind of way. At this point, most guys bow out with a nervous smile and quick apology. Unfortunately, this guy is hopped up on liquid courage and is willing to take his chances. I can understand that. Destinee really is that beautiful.

He shrugs out of my grip, then stands and faces me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" he demands, the slur in his words telling me that my estimate of his inebriation is spot on.

"I'm her boyfriend," I say calmly and reasonably. "I realize you probably didn't know that when you sat down with her, so why don't we just shake hands and-"

He thinks he's catching me unawares by throwing a roundhouse punch in the middle of my monologue, but he'd telegraphed it from the moment he got to his feet. I slap his arm to the right just enough to make it miss, which has the added benefit of making him over-rotate and fall backwards against my chest. Before he can blink, my arms are wrapped tightly around his head and neck.

With the particular hold I have him in, I could snap his neck up high enough on his cervical spine to where he'd be dead before he hit the floor. I'm applying about half the force necessary to do exactly that, and he can feel it. Another inch or two, and his momma will be crying over his casket. I've never taken it that far and can't imagine that I ever will. He doesn't know that, though, so he doesn't so much as twitch.

"Now friend, let's be reasonable," I rumble. "I'm here to enjoy the evening with my lady friend, not get in some kind of silly confrontation. What do you say we both just go about our business and forget this ever happened?"

It's the most generous offer this clown has gotten in a long time, and he knows it. "Absolutely," he squeaks.

I release him, and he turns to me in fear, still expecting me to deck him. Instead I hold a hand out. "No hard feelings?" I ask, a friendly look on my face.

He hesitantly takes my hand. "Uh, none at all."

I glance over at the server. She gives me a knowing look. She's seen this happen before. "Set my new friend up with a drink if you please," I say. "On me."

She nods as the guy lets go of my hand and backs away. "Uh, thanks, but I think I'm calling it a night," he says.

"Suit yourself." I turn back to the table. Normally it's not a good idea to show your back in a situation like this, but I'm quite confident that this guy won't be messing with us again.

I sit down and hand Destinee her Piña Colada. "Thank you," she says.

At least the guy has warmed my seat for me.