• Tomorrow Will Be Different • {J.C} (P.1)

• Chapter Eleven •

Starting out of the men's room, Julian stopped—he had been about five minutes too late.

The girl with long beige hair wearing a mini plaid dress was already talking to someone else.

Not just anyone else—some douchebag wearing a backwards baseball cap and an oversized shirt that swallowed his athletically "steroidal" frame. His faded ripped jeans were hanging just over the top of his doc martins...
...the guy was an absolute loser.

It was obvious to Jules that the guy was a self absorbed prick; most likely from Long Island—fraternity-scum. The thought of that poser lucking out with the only enticing girl in this place didn't sit right with Julian.

It didn't matter though; he had missed his chance.

~—• • • • • • • • •—~

"Don't do that—please." Erin demanded kindly with the drunkard sitting next to her as she tried brushing his hand away from her exposed knee. His large hand covered her entire kneecap; he was leaning too close—she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Why?—We're havin' fun, right? We're just havin' a good time." He insisted, leaning even closer.

"I'd have an even better time with your hand off my knee." Erin shifted her legs away, moving them under the bar top.

She knew she should've worn jeans—she knew she shouldn't have listened to Al—she should've dressed like a bum from East Harlem.

"C'mon now, I'm bein' nice here—I'm tryna buy you a drink- get to know you." He spoke while moving his hand further up her leg; his fingertips gliding just under the hem of her dress.

Erin froze as she thought of what to do. She thought about smacking him across the face, or calling out for Al—unsure which would cause more of a commotion.

She twisted uncomfortably, prying his hand off her leg.
"Stop—I'm gonna fucking hit you." Erin growled.

The drunken patron laughed, leaning into Erin even closer—leaving only an inch between their faces.

"If you don't knock him the fuck out—I will." Julian spoke from behind her.

The guy's grip loosened, still resting limply on her knee. Erin pushed his hand off, watching his face fall as he looked toward the threatening voice behind them.

"We're just playin' around," The guy's eyes suddenly appeared innocent as they trailed to Erin—looking for salvation, "aren't we?"

Without a second thought, Julian whopped the guy in the back of the head with his open palm; nearly causing his baseball cap to go flying off his head.
"Get the fuck up." Jules smacked the guy again—this time against the side of the temple.

As the guy started to leave his seat, Julian pushed off on the back of his neck—hard—watching him slink away toward a table with other losers dressed in the same douchebag attire.

Julian took the now empty seat, sliding Erin's drink away from her towards himself.
"You alright?" He asked; keeping his eyes on her as he waited for her answer.

All Erin had to say was 'no,' and Julian would walk to the other side of the bar—he would knock that guy out and gladly get jumped by his frat-buddies until his friends stepped in to assist.

"Yeah," Erin mumbled without looking his way, "thanks." Her eyes shifted to her drink between Julian's hands, needing it now more than ever.

Reading her expression, Jules shook his head, "No, you ain't drinkin' this—you don't know what's in it."