“Ah, she’s cagey,” Jericho says, voice booming over the noise. “Perfect match for you, Colt.”
Heat crawls up my neck. I try not to squirm in his lap, but Colter’s hand slides from my waist to my thigh, squeezing once like he knows I’m one second from bolting.
“Eat,” he says, nodding toward the coffee table where wings, nachos, and an entire graveyard of pizza boxes are spread out. “Before Jericho starts running his mouth even more.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He gives me a look that says he knows I’m lying. It makes me feel seen, exposed, and maybe a little cornered. Then his hand shifts, fingers drumming against my leg, not-so-subtle warning that testing him in front of an audience isn’t wise.
The match on TV surges, the crowd in the room groaning when the other team scores. Noise erupts again, and I take advantage of it to whisper, “You enjoy putting me on display like this?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He tips his beer bottle back, throat working as he swallows, then sets it on the armrest. His lips brush the curve of my ear when he finally speaks.
“I enjoy reminding them you’re mine.”
My stomach flips. Not because I hate the words—though I probably should—but because part of me thrills at the way he says them. Low. Certain. Possessive in a way that leaves no room for doubt.
I glance around, searching the faces of the men in the room. None of them say anything outright, but I see it—the weight of their stares, the knowing glances exchanged when they think I’m not looking. They see more than I want them to. More than I’m ready for them to.
The next few hours aren’t the worst, but as the sun sinks lower, the crowd gets wilder. I make the mistake of looking over to the corner where Jericho retreated, only to find him with a blonde in his lap, her dress pulled up to her waist, rocking back and forth on him.
Glancing around, I look to see if anyone else is catching it. Big mistake. Several of the men have their hands down their pants, stroking themselves beneath denim.
Wonderful.
“You good?” he asks me.
I nod and turn my attention back to the television. Not that I understand much about what is going on. I start to ask him a question when the room suddenly gets quiet. I turn to see what is going on. Colter tenses beneath me as my gaze lands on the last person I want to see.
Melanie.
There is fire in her eyes, but they are also filled with tears as she stares at us from the entryway. She is wringing her hands, but her chin is held high. Colter moves me off his lap and stands up.
Is he serious right now. He doesn’t say anything to me as he makes his way through the room until he is in front of her. I watch as he takes her hand, whispering to her, before leading her out the room.
Nope.
Hell no.
“You look like you need this.” I look up to see Sienna, the girl from this morning, holding out a glass tumbler with a pink tinge. Normally I would decline. An alcoholic, drug obsessed mother will do that to you, but now, after everything tonight, I break my own rule. I take it from her, careful not to look at the people surrounding me who no doubt knows exactly who she was to Colter before I came along.
Who do I need to bribe to get a ride out of here?
“Come on.” She motions for me to follow her and, not having anything better to do, I do just that. She weaves us through the press of bodies, moving with the confidence of someone who’sdone this a thousand times before. I trail after her, clutching the glass like a lifeline, careful not to meet anyone’s eyes.
The farther we move from the living room, the more the noise dulls, still there, still pounding, but muffled by walls and distance. Sienna pushes open a door off the hallway and gestures me inside.
It’s quieter here, almost eerily so compared to the chaos outside. The room smells faintly of cedar and leather, with a pair of worn armchairs angled toward a fireplace that hasn’t been lit in a long while. Books line the shelves in uneven stacks in clutter that is lived in rather than staged.
“Sit,” she says, perching on the arm of one chair while I sink into the other. She tips her chin at my drink. “It’s cranberry and vodka. Not strong, but it’ll take the edge off.”
I take a sip. It burns enough to remind me I’m still tethered to reality.
My brain is still stuck on the sight of Colter taking Melanie’s hand. On the fact that he didn’t even look at me before he walked her out like I wasn’t even there.
Sienna studies me over the rim of her own glass. “You know about her and Colter.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “I know she used to suck his dick.”
