Because Wayne is in the room.
The old man is across the way, red cup in hand, laughing too loudly at something one of the assistant coaches said. But I know him—he sees more than he lets on. If I make a scene now, I’ll be throwing Sammie into a fire she isn’t ready to stand in.
So I wait. My chest heaves, hands shaking, but I force myself to stay in the shadows.
And then Sammie saves me.
She steps back from the vampire kid, shakes her head again, sharper this time. Her body turns away from him completely, like a door slamming shut. And then—just for a heartbeat—her eyes lift.
They find me.
Across the crowd, past the flashing lights and the drunk laughter, her gaze locks on mine. And I know. She refused him because she already belongs to me.
The fury in my chest doesn’t fade. It twists into something darker, hotter, more dangerous.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, thumb hovering over her name. The one I added weeks ago without her knowing, when I planted the cameras, when I made sure I’d always have a line to her. My pulse thunders as I type the words:
You did the right thing. You only dance with me.
I hit send.
Across the room, her phone buzzes in her hand. I see the way her lips part, the way her breath stumbles. She doesn’t look around—she doesn’t have to. She knows it’s me.
And she doesn’t put the phone away.
She reads it twice, maybe three times, fingers trembling before she shoves it into her pocket.
The corner of my mouth curves.
Because I’ve already won.
And this night is only beginning.
And I can see it land.
From across the crowded room, I watch her shoulders stiffen, her breath catch, the way she hides her phone against her thigh like it’s a weapon that might expose her. She glances up, quick and guilty, and our eyes lock through the blur of costumes and flashing lights. Her cheeks are flushed red, hotter than the cheap string lights strung around the ceiling. She’s not just embarrassed. She’s burning.
I smirk into my glass, sip the bitter drink down, but it does nothing to calm me. My hand is tight around the rim, my body thrumming with the same hunger that’s been chewing me alive for weeks.
She can’t hide her reaction from me. I know exactly what my words are doing to her. She’s trying to laugh at someone’s joke, to play normal, but her eyes keep darting back to me, like she can’t help it. Like she’s tethered.
Good.
I want her restless. I want her thinking about me with every heartbeat, every breath. I want her terrified that her father will see her glance my way and know.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, leaning against the dark wall just out of reach of the flickering orange glow of the jack-o’-lanterns. The shadows are mine tonight, and from here I see everything.
Another punk approaches her dressed like a pirate. He leans in too close, his hand brushing her arm as he says something that makes her shake her head. Sammie forces a polite smile, but I see the tension in her jaw, the way she takes half a step back.
My blood spikes. My hand tightens around the glass until I’m close to shattering it.
He laughs again, pointing toward the makeshift dance floor in the living room where bodies sway under dim lights. I don’t hear his words, but I know what he’s asking.
A dance.
My vision tunnels. Heat roars through me like wildfire, and I want to step out of the shadows, rip him away from her, and make him choke on his grin. Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t anyone see?
She’s not available. She’s not even hers to offer. She’s mine.
