Excruciatingly slowly.
She’s got thatqueen of seductionthing going on, and I’m already undone just by breathing the same air as her.
Now?
Now I’m a lost cause.
She runs a hand through her sleek hair, tilts her head, and then—
Christ.
She bends forward, wine glass raised,
and shakes her ass right in front of my face.
It’s official.
This isn’t a game.
This is torture.
I try to breathe. To act like a functioning adult.
It does not work.
She turns, keeps dancing, and then brushes a hand along Sebastian’s shoulder.
“See?” she says over her shoulder. “That’s how it’s done. Not like your disastrous dates.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
To stop myself from saying things I absolutely cannot say in front of people.
To stop myself from grabbing her and hauling her out of here.
To stop myself from punching Sebastian—who I liked up until three seconds ago.
And who, realistically, is doing absolutely nothing wrong.
Then something inside me snaps.
I don’t know what to call it.
But I move.
The music cuts off—no idea where I got the remote, maybe I summoned it with my soul.
She opens her mouth to protest, but I don’t give her the chance.
I take the glass gently from her hand and set it on the table.
I lean in.
“I think that’s enough wine for tonight.”
“Who are you to decide that?” she hisses, voice sharp, louder now.
“The guy who’s taking you home.”
