If Mitch really invited me to this party to make me feel like shit, he’s going to have to drag me out of here with blood on my teeth and flesh under my fingernails. At this moment, nothing else exists but them and me and a lifetime of pent-up aggression.
Their eyes drop to my chest, where the thin fabric of my shirt clings to the curve of my tits, leaving very little up to the imagination. The spark in their eyes is all it takes for my hands to ball into tight fists and let loose with all my might, just barely missing Paul’s five o’clock shadow as my body is rocked backward by a pair of strong arms around my waist.
In one swift motion, I’m lifted up and away from my warpath. I whirl around, hoping to see Mitch had come to my aid, forgiving me for being such a colossal bitch this week, but it’s Ian’s emerald eyes looking down at me instead.
My body has an immediate visceral reaction to his hands on me, and I struggle to break free of his firm grip.
“Let me go, Ian! I can take care of myself,” I bark, struggling against his hold.
“Calm down,” Ian’s voice is a commanding whisper. It’s the most emotion he’s ever given me in the six months I’ve known him. “I have no doubt you can take down all four of them, but how about not eliminating the entire stocking department before Mitch's first shift as Manager.”
I go still in his arms as his eyes bore into me, immediately smothering the fire on the inside.
Mitch.
Fuck.
I try to relax my fists and unclench my jaw, but it’s useless. The fire may be gone, but the anger coursing through my veins is a living entity. It’s been there as long as I can remember, and it has no intention of hibernating quietly. It never does.
Ian’s hands slide up to my forearms as if he’s afraid I’ll lunge for the four assholes the moment he lets go. He’s not wrong. The thought of laying out even one of them is egregiously appealing, but I can’t bring myself to do that to Mitch. He deserves better than my emotional outbursts. He deserves better than me.
I clench my jaw tighter and huff out a growl, “Fine.” I pull my arms from his now lax grip and make a beeline for the kitchen, adjusting my cross-body purse higher up my shoulder.
Mitch is leaning up against the counter, pouring a concoction of alcohol into his red Solo cup.
“Hey,” I say, stopping just short of him. I have to get out of here now if I want to keep my sanity and the asshole's jaws intact, and I know if I’m in reaching distance, his touch will root me to this very spot.
“Roxy!” Mitch bellows, catching me off guard, and launches himself forward, closing the distance and pulling me into his arms. He lifts me off the ground in a bear hug, instantly making my heart feel whole again.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I breathe in the scent of his cologne, and my heartbeat quickens as I melt into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in him. How much I’ve missed him this week hits me all at once, and it’s clear now how much I hate every moment I’m not in his arms.
"God, it’s so good to see you,” he says, setting me back onto my feet, his arms draped possessively around me. “When the fuck did you get here, babe?"
A sickening jolt ricochets through my entire body, and I shrug his arm off and step back. It takes a moment for the words to manifest from the depths of my gut to my lips, "What do you mean? Mitch, I'vebeenhere...for like an hour."
“What? No way,” he says, stumbling into the counter, no longer having me as an anchor point. Ian appears and grips his shoulder to keep him from toppling over.
I shoot Ian a death glare before refocusing on Mitch with clarity, “How fucked are you right now?” I say quickly with concern.
Mitch takes a stumbling step toward me, lets out a huff of a laugh, and claps his hands on both of my cheeks, leaving a slight burn under his palm, and my traitorous pussy clenches in response.
“I’m about as fucked as you’re going to be tonight,” he whispers, then pulls my face in and plants a kiss that is so deep thatI almost give in to anything he says. But I can taste the liquor on his breath, and with great willpower, I push him back, my hands on his chest.
“You taste like a distillery,” I say, not wanting to be a buzzkill but entirely too concerned for his health. “You smell like one, too.”
Mitch laughs and pokes a finger at the tip of my nose. “Lots to celebrate, Hunny Bun. I’ve been such a good boy,” He slurs.
I huff out a frustrated breath and look at Ian, who’s not as drunk as Mitch but might as well have a giant neon sign on his forehead that glows ENABLER.
“This is your fault,” I say to Ian, pointing a finger at Mitch.
“My fault?” Ian barks with wide eyes and a hint of a smile. “How is it my fault?”
“You let him drink way too much,” I yell incredulously.
“He’s a grown-ass man, Roxy,” Ian says, a stupid smile lingering on his lips. “Besides, it’s his party. It's not like he has to drive anywhere. I’m not his fucking father.”
