I’m just irritated.
Pretty girls irritate the hell out of me. Especially ones that carry a smile that screams she knows it too.
Why is she standing so close to him?
Wesley glances at me, hoping for a reaction, but I’d rather stir my drink into oblivion than let him know it’s getting to me.
When I don’t look up, he answers her, “Sure, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
I refuse to look up.
But I see his fingers lace and lock with hers. The way they fit so perfectly together, like somehow kismet has brought them to this night.
When his back is to me, I finally look up, tracking them across the room, watching him pull her into his arms and start provocatively dancing with her right there in front of everyone.
His hand on her hip.
Her hand on his chest, feeling up that perfectly sculpted wall of muscle.
My straw suddenly becomes a weapon as I violently stab at my drink, trying to shake off this sudden wave of jealousy. My poor ice never stood a chance. “He’s such a Neanderthal,” I growl, trying to mask my frustration. “He’ll fuck anything with two legs.”
“Oh, he’s going to fuck that one,” Amber says too loudly. “If for anything else to make Poppy jealous. She could be getting pregnant as we speak.”
My head snaps up, searching for the happy couple on the dance floor. They’re grinding against each other, lips teasing like they’re gonna kiss. He pulls at her bottom lip with his finger, and she’s leaning into it, ready to go. Then they’re kissing. His tongue moves in. Her tongue moves out. It’s fast and reckless. Hands dancing over places they shouldn’t.
It’s gross.
It makes my skin crawl.
God, why do I feel so jealous about this?
I can’t take this anymore. I need to remove myself from the situation before it’s too late.
“I’m going to go find the bathroom. If I don’t come back, don’t send out a search party,” I announce, quickly getting up from the table.
My eyes immediately find the exit, but I talk myself out of running and turn down the hall towards the bathrooms. Once inside the safety of the stall, I break down, a tear slipping down my cheek before I can stop it.
“He’s not your boyfriend, you’re not supposed to care,”I remind myself, though my heart is fighting my ribcage like a ferocious tiger ready to pounce.
My instinct is to run out there and tear her hair out, but I don’t. I can’t. I won’t let him see me break. That familiar feeling takes over me. The spinning of my head, my heart racing so fast I can barely keep up with it. I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack, and there’s no way to stop it.
I sink to the ground, taking in two deep breaths as I try to hold in all the feelings I’ve hidden away inside. I shouldn’t be feeling like this, not over him. But I do.
Seeing him kiss her was disturbing, but only because I know what those lips taste like. What they feel like. How his hands can be so possessive and sweet at the same time. He’s five years older now. I can’t even imagine what he perfected in the time we’ve been apart. I purposely stayed away from having any interactions with him, just so I wouldn’t feel anything.
And now he’s back in my life.
Infuriating me.
Confusing me.
Making me want things I shouldn’t.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe. Almost as if someone has their hands wrapped around my throat and they’re squeezing.
There’s only one way to stop this, Poppy.
That voice inside my head never leaves. Even when I try to snuff it out with silence.
