The thought flitters around my brain, and it takes effort to swallow the giddy laugh that threatens to spill out.
Whatever … entanglement that was, I don’t regret it. In fact, I feelalive.
The space between us was a living, breathing thing. And I can feel the pulse of it in my wrists, my throat, my core.
My skin feels bruised by their gazes, and half of me wants to march back in that room and see what other entanglements the three of us can get into.
I shake that thought off, knowing now isn’t the time to explore that idea.
I slip down the hallway past the archway to the kitchen, dodging a pair of girls in string bikinis arguing over who gets the last cup of sangria.
Outside, the air tastes like salt and chlorine and smoke from the bonfire someone started too close to the palm trees. People are everywhere, laughing too loud, bodies pressed too close, the kind of loose, reckless energy that turns a nice party into a story you only tell in fragments.
I cut toward the corner of the side patio where it’s darker, quieter.
Cruz is there like he’s been waiting—leaned against a pillar with a drink in his hand, shirt unbuttoned. He lifts his glass in greeting, eyes narrowing slightly as they land on my neck.
My hand drifts to the spot he's looking at. The skin there burns slightly under my fingertips, a constellation of tiny abrasions that pulse with my heartbeat. Each rough scratch a reminder of how Gage's jaw had dragged against my neck, catching with delicious friction as he'd pressed closer.
“Well,” he drawls. “You look like you’ve had fun tonight.”
I snort and snatch his drink from his hand. The glass is cool against my palm, condensation wetting my fingers. His brows shoot up as I tip my head back, letting the amber liquid slide down my throat. It burns like fire, scorching a path from my lips to my chest. My eyes water. My nostrils flare. But I don't stop until the glass is empty, until that liquid heat spreads through my chest and dulls the raw, exposed feeling that Gage and Rafe left behind.
Cruz’s mouth quirks. “Bellamy Hale,” he says slowly, like he’s tasting my name. “So it’s gonna be that kind of night, hm?”
“It’s a party, isn’t it?” I hand the empty glass back and lean my shoulders against the window behind me. I forgot who’s room it is, but I pray it’s not Coco’s. Somehow I just know she’d take one look at me and know what just went down in her dining room.
His laugh rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest. He pushes off the pillar and steps forward, leaving a careful foot of space between us. The warmth radiating from his skin makes goosebumps rise on my arms despite the humidity.
“In that case,” he says, eyes darting past me to where someone shrieks with laughter by the pool. “I'll get us more drinks.”
He starts to turn. My fingers catch his wrist before I can think—five points of heat against his pulse. His eyes drop to where I'm touching him, then rise slowly to meet mine. The moment stretches, elastic. I release him, leaving five pale fingerprints that fade as I watch.
“Bring me something cold,” I say, my voice dry.
Cruz's grin sharpens like a blade catching light. “Yes, ma'am.”
And then he disappears into the crowd. The space he occupied cools instantly. My shoulders drop half an inch. My lungs expand fully for what feels like the first time in minutes. Twenty feet away, strangers laugh and splash by the pool, their voices blurring into white noise beneath the music's thump. My pulse slows in my ears, then suddenly quickens again—a bird realizing it's been left outside its cage.
Three men I don’t recognize drift into my pocket of reprieve like they’ve been pulled by gravity. Tall and broad, the kind of drunk that leans into overconfidence. Two with beers in hand,the third with a bottle of something clear that catches the light when he tilts it.
They fan out in front of me in a way that feels casual if you don’t know what to look for.
But I fucking know.
They’re blocking my view of the yard. Blocking my line back to the house. Blocking the easiest exit without ever touching me.
My spine straightens. My fingers curl around the edge of the towel around my hips. As far as weapons go, it’s fucking terrible. But I’m not entirely defenseless.
One of them smiles. “Hey.”
I give him a flat stare and nothing else.
His friend stares at me with intensity, letting his slimy gaze crawl over me. “You new around here?”
“Not really.” I try to look over their shoulders, beyond them, but it’s hard when they’ve all got at least six inches on me.
The third guy laughs and shuffles forward a step. “That’s not what he meant. I’m Kyle.”
