Now I’m laughing at myself even harder as I shove my phone back in my clutch and stand up just as the song switches. Thank Goddddd, back to something upbeat and fun so I can go back to the dance floor to my friends.
Wilder’s still a thought in the back of my mind, but I push it away and make a promise to myself to enjoy the rest of my night.
His loss.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
WILDER
I rereadthe email again for the third time since I opened it.
Fucking Christ.
What in the hell is she thinking?
Oh, that’s right. She’s not.
She’s drunk off her ass at a club, sending me emails about how much she doesn’t give a fuck about my dick while she’s out with goddamnLegros.
Who’s probably flirting with her, touching her… while she’s drinking.
The thought of him putting his hands on her has a rush of fury pulling impossibly tight in my chest.
I shouldn’t care. It’s ridiculous that I even do.
Maisie’s not mine. She’ll never be mine, and I know that.
I fucking know that I have no right to feel this possessive, this certifiably insane when it comes to her, yet… I do.
I feel murderous when I think of anyone touching her. Anyone hearing the way she sounds when she makes those breathy little moans as she comes.
It makes me lose my goddamn mind.
“Motherfucker,” I snarl as I pick up the alarm clock off the box beside my bed and send it hurling toward the wall, where it shatters into pieces, scattering across the peeling linoleum floor.
She’s drunk, at a goddamn club with the last person I want her with when she’snotdrunk.
It’s not just white-hot jealousy causing the monster inside of me to rear its head, beat on its chest, growling and roaring.
It’s the fact that I can’t make sure she’ssafe.
She’s surrounded by a bunch of drunk, horny fucking idiots that don’t ever take the wordnofor what it means.
What if she’s leaving her drink unattended while she’s dancing, and someone slips something in it?
What if she’s too drunk to keep resisting dumbass Legros?
Fuck no.
This shit isn’t happening.
Grabbing my phone off the bed next to me, I open my email again, this time not to read the bratty one she sent but to pull up the email from Coach Taylor that he sent when I started at OU. I click open the onboarding document he attached and was told that I’d be working with Maisie as my student liaison.
I flip through the pages until I find what I’m looking for.
Before I can even think about what’s going to happen after I do, I type her number in and press Call.
