“Hey. Either somebody pulls out a cat picture, or they misread it and show me their tits. It’s theperfectshirt to wear to a bar. But the fun part is, I don’t care what anybody in here thinks about my shirt.”That’s a lie.For the first time in my life, I care about one person’s opinion—Whit’s. “You should try not giving a fuck. It’s fun.”
Whit tilts her head to imply that I’m stupid, and Kate interrupts with a loud sigh. “Come on. It’s your birthday.”
After giving me a once-over, Whit says, “Okay. Fine.”
I’ve barely had the chance to get out of the way before Whit and Kate clamber out of the booth.
“Sorry, Blair. I wish you could join us,” Kate says.
“C’mon.You can still dance with a broken ankle, baby.” Denny grabs Blair’s hand, yanking her from her seat, and he hauls her out to the dance floor. Both arms around her, he keeps Blair steady as she traverses the floor with one working leg.
The four of them are laughing and dancing, and something twinges in my chest at the sight of other guys drooling over an oblivious Whit and Kate.
I turn to Jackson. “Doesn’t it make you mad as hell to see other dudes staring at your wife like that?”
Jackson presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Nah, if they know what’s good for them, they’ll keep their distance. I’d be a lot more worried if the roles were reversed. One time a woman got a little too touchy-feely when she was talking to me, and Kate got herself kicked out of the bar.”
“Honestly, that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Ipretend to laugh, sipping my water; meanwhile my brain’s slowly turning into something resembling half-set Jell-O.
They’re openly gawking now, and it’s disgusting. And infuriating. And maybe it’s because I’m too sober to ignore drunken men’s shenanigans, but I’ve never felt the need to fight anybody at a bar before now. I drag my hand along my jawline, scraping my callused fingers over my facial hair, and dig my heels into the floor. I’m ready to throw myself halfway across the room at a moment’s notice, if needed.
A guy approaches Whit and leans close to say something. Her laughter rains fire on my skin, and my nails bite into the faux-leather seat. I don’t blink. I don’t move. I wait for her to be the one to tell him off….
The guy’s tall and hunky, clean-shaven and wearing city-slicker clothes. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But goddamn it, watching him slide his arm around Whit and lull her lithe body into a slow sway has my stomach churning. Anger grows deep in my bones. Jealousy settles into every fiber of my being.
That was supposed to be me. Everything is supposed to be different—I was going to tell Whit I like her, ask her on a proper date, feel the warmth of her body under my hands on the dance floor. I thought it was meant to be me out there with her.
And now that it’s not, the building’s collapsing in on me, and my lungs are shaky, and I can hear my blood pressure in my ears.
Jackson reaches over and lays his palm over my forearm. “Bud, it’s not worth fighting him over. It’s just a dance.”
Real easy for a guy to say when he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his girl is leaving with him tonight. I might’ve encouraged Whit to let her hair down, but I wasn’t implying that she should hook up with a random guy.
My heel bounces on the liquor-soaked bar floor, sticking slightly with every jittery tap. Something about the pulsing lights and the sultry rock music coming from the live bandand the slow slide of this douchebag’s hand onto Whit’s ass pushes me to the edge.
In a flurry of motion, vision hazed, I make my way to where this dude is grinding his nasty crotch against my future wife.
I give him a friendly tap on the shoulder. Some dudes—like Red, if he were here—would swing first and ask questions second. Yet no matter how thick the jealousy running through my veins is, I can’t find it in me to start a fight like that.“Hey, man. I’m gonna dance with my girlfriend now.”
He raises a brow, calling me out.
“Whit.” I stare at her. “You wanna tell him to fuck off? Or do I need to handle this?”
The guy snorts, hands falling away from Whit’s waist. “Might want to keep your girlfriend on a tighter leash next time.”
“What the hell, Colt?” Whit yells above the music. That cute line in her forehead is prominent now.
“You wanted him rubbing his dick all over you?”
“Dancing.” She gestures to the other couples who are dangerously close to having sex on the dance floor. “That’s what that was.”
“I guess I missed the announcement that this was becoming a sex club at ten p.m.”
She scoffs, arms tensing in preparation to slap me, most likely. “What is wrong with you?”
Strobe lights glimmer and streak across her angry face, and the live band switches to something even more sexual. Seems I came in at the exact moment I needed to.
“That guy was seconds from blowing it in his pants,” I say.
