Alex grinned and wiped away a smear of mustard from my chin. I blushed with his touch, blushed when his eyes held mine a moment too long.
Nine innings later we were covered in a fine spray of ocean mist and flushed with the excitement of a tight win. We both oozed garlic and mustard and as we wound through the horde of slow-moving Giants fans, Alex reached out and took my hand, pulling me close against him. His chest was warm and deliciously firm, and I could smell his comforting cocoa scent tinged with a touch of fabric softener and stadium mustard as I leaned against him.
“So, you like baseball?”
He looked down at me, his cobalt eyes bright in the stadium lights, and pulled me closer. “I love it.”
I swallowed hard as my mouth watered and my mind was littered with unmentionable things; I felt the pressure on my cheeks from what must have been a four-hour grin.
“Me, too.”
It was a hike back to the connecting bus stop and rather than take a cab, we strolled hand in hand in the mist, walking along the deserted streets when suddenly Alex stiffened. I saw the muscle in his jaw tighten, his lips tense. “Did you hear that?”
I cocked my head to one side, listening to the night sounds of the city: the mournful wail of a police siren, the buzz of the yellow streetlight above us.
“Hear what?”
Alex whirled around and I felt a spike of fear start at the base of my spine and prick its way up. My saliva went sour. “I heard that.”
It was the raspy sound of sneakers on concrete coming to an abrupt stop. The sound of heavy breathing—distinct, though barely audible on the late-night breeze.
“Maybe it’s just—”
My words were cut off by the sound of a blade slicing through the air. I felt a body make contact with mine; then the wind as it left my chest when I made contact with the cold, damp concrete. I only knew Alex had been hit when I heard the strangled sound of his groan.
“Sophie, run!”
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion and Alex’s command didn’t even sound like him. It was higher, more menacing, and I kicked my feet, sliding on the concrete until I got some traction, then stopped dead, seeing the dark figure in front of Alex.
Our attacker was dressed entirely in black and stood a half-head taller than Alex, his face obscured by a black knit ski mask that only revealed sinister hooded eyes that remained fixed on us. He held his blade aloft once more and I heard my own scream when I saw the blood—Alex’s blood—dripping from the cold steel.
The man dove forward, his body colliding with Alex’s with a stomach-churning thud, the blade hacking at the air just behind Alex’s left ear. I tried to grab at the assailant, to push away his knife and when Alex got the upper hand I did the only thing I could think of. Within seconds I had my arms around our attacker’s neck, my legs flailing wildly as I rode his back. His non-knife hand pulled back to grab at me and I gripped it, and bit down as hard as I could on the fleshy web between his forefinger and thumb. He howled, hunched, and launched me forward. I rammed into Alex’s chest and he caught me, sloppily, both of us going down to the concrete and rolling apart. The wail of a police siren sounded somewhere in the distance and droned until it was closer; by the time I looked up, our attacker was long gone.
“Are you okay?” Alex asked breathily.
“I’m fine but you’re—” I gaped at the red velvet blood that rippled through his fingers as he clutched his shoulder. “You’re hurt. We’ve got to get you to the hospital.” I sprang to my feet and sprinted into the middle of the street, flailing my arms wildly at no one.
“Where is everyone? This is an emergency! We need a doctor! We need an ambulance!” I rolled up on my tiptoes as though the extra half inch would allow me to see over the building tops. “What happened to the police siren?”
Alex lumbered up and put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m fine; it’s nothing. It’s just a scratch.”
“A scratch?” I could smell the metallic scent of his blood and it made me slightly woozy. “We’ve got to do something! You could lose that arm!” I patted myself. “Oh! Cell phone!”
“It’s fine.”
Before I could steady my shaking fingers enough to dial, I saw Alex use his good arm to flag down a couple of orbs of white light coming from the dark alley. I felt a little splinter of joy. A cab! We’re saved!
The yellow cab stopped in the middle of the street in front of us. I hustled Alex inside and half climbed over the front seat. “SF General and step on it! We’ve just been mugged.” I sat back on the bench seat as the cabbie sped off. “We were mugged, right?”
Alex, still holding his shoulder, shrugged, then winced. “He didn’t ask for my wallet. But I lost your foam finger.” He looked apologetic and I used both my hands against his chest to push him against the seat. “Don’t talk. Relax. We’ll get you another foam finger. You’ve just got to live!” I searched frantically in my purse.