“Well he’s watching you like he’s a man in a desert who hasn’t had water in forty years!” she shouted over the music, and I wonder if he knows we’re talking about him. But I won’t look. I might see that girl orbiting him again.
“Forty’s so specific,” Gen giggles. “You’re so weird. I can’t believe I hated you.”
Liv’s eyes swell again. “I can’t believeIhatedyou,” she wails, throwing her arms around Gen as they start to bob to the synth and bass coasting through the speakers.
Jean links his arm through mine, fortifying me as we stride over to the table. Concern shades my brother’s features as he peeks over our shoulders, standing up to scour the crowd for Gen.
“You know, while I love the whole protector vibe,” Jean says, sliding in next to my brother, “Gen could literally gut someone with just her eyes. Liv too, actually.” He steals his drink away and downs it before Grant can protest, flashing him two rows of alarmingly straight teeth.
“He’s right,” Ben says, unbothered as he spots his girlfriendin the crowd, an easy smile settling on his face, and Jean’s laugh comes out like more of a squeak.
“You’re peppy,” Grant says, suspicion in his eyes, and Jean and I exchange a glance, fighting the laughter threatening to bubble up. “What’d you do?” my brother asks, tojustme, and I feel the sharp pain of whatever feeling or realization I buried during our fight a few weeks ago. Because even though things have been forgiven, they haven’t been forgotten. I’m still as careless and wild as I ever was and Grant is still the golden boy with the stick up his ass. I suck in my cheek, rolling my eyes as I form a retort.
“Don’t be a dick, Fielder,” Andy says, finally speaking up from his seat between Ben and Grant, barely glancing his way as he casually sips his beer. Instead, his gaze finds mine and they lock in quiet conspiracy. Something warm spreads across the open wound Grant left, like a balm. Grant scoffs, and I practically see the way it chafes across Andy’s skin, can see in real time his careless smirk slip into something harder. “It’d cost you nothing to just, I don’t know, give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Ben’s mouth presses into a straight line as he stifles a laugh, looking away from the table as understanding dawns on my brother. I’d assumed Gen would’ve mentioned the whole me and Andy sleeping together thing, in passing anyway. It seems she left that little bomb to me.
“Great. Thank you, Sloane, for doing theonething I asked you not to do.” He tears the cut back open, deeper this time, I don’t know when it got like this between us or if it will ever be completely fixed. I thought maybe after he found out Connie was sick that he’d stop trying to push me away. Scratch at me until my self image matched the one in his head. It takes more than I wish it did to hide the feelings from my face.
“I promised I wouldn’tflirtwith any of your teammates.You have no proof I did any such thing,” I tell him with a shrug, crossing my arms as I narrow my eyes at him, begging him to argue but I hope he catches the dip of my mouth, the silent plea to let this go. To forgive me.
“You know what? It’s none of my business,” he huffs out, motioning for Jean to move, just as Andy’s jaw twitches. I brace myself.
“You’re right, man. It’s not. But if you have a problem with it, you should probably talk to me—not her.” My stomach dips at the suggestion that he should speak for me at all, but I can’t help the warmth that creeps across my skin, up the back of my neck—the blush that blooms over my cheeks. He’s in this dark corduroy button up that’s rolled up his forearms, so I can see the tension there as he flexes his hands in a fist on the table, can see the tendon in his neck that twitches with irritation, and it’s overwhelming that he’s this irritated for me.
Overwhelming but enthralling, if my rush of adrenaline is any indication.
Grant shakes his head, fucking off to wherever his angel of a girlfriend is dancing the night away, and Ihopehe realizes she did cocaine on a dirty bathroom counter, and I hope his head pops off because he can’t control every little piece on his happy little checker board.
“Ian’s here,” Jean shouts just as a voice from my childhood sings “it goes on and on” and starts pumping through the speakers, and Andy bristles. I don’t know what the deal is, why this bothers him, but I can tell he’d rather avoid him right now.
“I think the dart board’s free,” I say before turning to Ben. “And I don’t think you’re gettin’ away without stepping foot on that dance floor so, shoo!” His head rolls, only remerging once a resigned grin is etched in his face.
“You read my mind. You think I can bribe the DJ into something slow?”
“On New Year’s Eve?” I chuckle as Andy steps down, brushing his hand across my waist in subtle possession. We disappear to the back wall of the club, farthest away from the rooftop patio that overlooks Boston Harbor, and find the vacant target. Andy gathers the darts and hands me all the reds.
“You get any better?” he says, stepping behind me as I line up my first throw, and I’m thrown back to the first night we met. The pool table, the darts, the cheesy pick up lines.
“This is mything, Andrew. If anything, you were just messin’ me up.” I step away from him, throwing the dart. It lands within the triple ring, and I mutter a string of curses under my breath. His dart flies and does marginally better, and I sneakily lift my brows, pleased by the way it pulls a smirk to his lips, and the urge to lean against the wall and let him crowd me grows with every dart we throw. With one left, he presses up behind me, leaving no room for me to evade him, and reaches to guide my hand. It’s a relief I wish wasn’t so visceral—having him near me, touching me, holding me. One hand on my throwing one, the other settled on my hip, slipping beneath the band of my jeans, skimming the skin there like he always does. Like I love.
“Let’s just try,” he says low in my ear. I feel my pulse beneath the center seam of these pants; either they’re too tight or my body is straining against them. We pull back and he counts; on one I release a breath and we let the dart fly.
Of course, it’s a fucking bullseye. I round on him, feeling antsy in my own skin, only to find his heavy lidded gaze on me, filled to the brim with amusement.
“That was luck,” I insist, quickly spinning to collect the darts for a rematch. A feminine voice sounds behind me, and when I flick my gaze over my shoulder I see the bottle service girl an inch closer than would be professional, all things considered.
“One more minute,” she says, like she’s forcing herself to sound breathy, her lips pouting in a way that can’t be natural while tinsel sparkles in her dark brown hair. “You really should see the fireworks from the deck.” She gives him these sex eyes and if I was closer, I fear I’d trip her. Instead, I turn back to the dart board and let the feeling roll off me, because Itoldhim to see other people. That I don’t want to be a roadblock for him, just like he shouldn’t think he’s one for me. The thought doesn’t sit well, though, and I swallow, facing the harbor as I pass him his set of darts.
“Let’s go.” He offers me his hand, and I realize the little table fairy has flown away.
“Where’s your friend?” My voice doesn’t really sound like my own; it’s clinical, like the kind nurses use with you when they’re just covering for someone else and don’t want to get attached but want to be polite.
Andy searches my face. “The bottle service girl?” he corrects, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah. I think she’s expectin’ a New Year’s Eve kiss,” I tell him, like a wing woman and not a woman he’s been sleeping with, passionately, to the point of tears for the past week.
“And why would I want to do that?” He steps toward me, his head tilted down so I can see the exasperation in the crease of his brow.
