“You didn’t have to do that!” The kid shouted, and tried to brush the tears from his eyes, but mostly succeeded in smearing whatever she’d sprayed on him.
By that time, Larry was within reach—just a couple steps down.
The kid muttered something, and as he pulled one hand away from his face, Larry saw that the kid had made a fist.
It wasn’t much of a punch. He swung wildly, missing by more than a foot.
Cheryl stepped backwards, moving unsteadily up the stairs, away from the punch. The high heels and mini-skirt didn’t do her any favors.
Larry grabbed the kid’s forearm from behind as the kid recovered from his swing, and then grabbed the kid’s bicep with his left hand.
“Relax, kid.” Continue reading Enter the Larry: Part 6