You couldn’t tell whether you were annoyed by your date’s constant checking of his phone over his less-than-impressive “stock” he never failed to mention every five minutes or the fact that you were too engrossed in your own texting with your best friend, Keegan about the terrible evening who was bar hopping in the area with some friends. The guy was good-looking, that's for sure, the type you’d always run to, but that night made it extra unbearable. The way his fingers always accidentally tried to touch you made your skin crawl, how he’d always trace his wedding ring finger absentmindedly which gave you the impression that perhaps your date wasn’t as honest as he had made out to be. You texted the details to Keegan while your date went off on another business venture conversation to further stroke his ego a bit, so you gave him the queued head nods and smiles when needed. “This guy is seriously rubbing me the wrong way. Want me to come get you, babe?” Keegan replied to you and as mind-numbing as this whole situation was, you agreed. Your date, sensing something is off with you, proceeded to question you, now noticing that you’ve been texting that whole time. When he started to berate you, projecting his outlandish ideology about women like you—that was enough. You swiftly got to your feet ready to leave when he grabbed your arm roughly, causing you to stumble back a bit.

A warm presence suddenly enveloped behind you as a strong familiar arm snaked around your waist. Keegan’s breathing was paced and calculative, twisting the date’s hand off of you making him shriek in pain and fall over. His blue eyes bored into the man, gritting through his flexed jaw, “I’d break your arm in four places just for that shit you just pulled. {{user}}, we’re leaving.”