Three days of silence, and one look from her is enough to undo me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tessa
The days leading up to New Year’s Eve blurred together. Once I got back to campus, I picked up a few extra shifts at Silver Spur—anything to keep my mind from circling back to Clay and everything that’s happened between us.
Knowing I wouldn’t be ringing in the new year with him, I made it my mission to stay busy enough to forget what day it was.
I spent longer than usual getting ready—curling my hair and pinning it up in a loose updo even though I knew I’d be sweating behind the bar all night. I pulled on my fitted black-and-gold Silver Spur tee and my favorite jeans, the ones worn soft from too many late shifts. I promised Kylie I’d come in early to help set up, and maybe, if I stayed moving, I wouldn’t have time to think about him.
The place hits capacity before nine. Jimmy, the bouncer, swings by to tell us the line’s wrapped around the building, and A Rebels Havochasn’t even taken the stage yet. The air’s already thick with a mix of beer and perfume. I stay behind the bar, doing my best to keep up. My smile feels stretched thin, the kind that doesn’t reach my eyes, but it gets the job done.
A regular waves me down, glass still half full. “Refill?”
“Finish that one first,” I tell him, tossing a quick smile before turning away.
I keep my hands moving because if I stop, I’ll start thinking about him. And I can’t think about him tonight.
But it’s useless. Every time I see a couple cozied up together, sliding up to the bar to order a drink, I think about how much I wish that could be us.
By the time A Rebels Havoc takes the stage, my feet are sore, my hair is falling loose, and the back of my neck is slick with sweat. I barely notice the ache in my jaw from faking a smile for too long.
The first chord tears through the bar, and the crowd roars so loud it shakes the walls. I’m sliding a beer to a guy in a glitter crown when I feel my skin prickle. I don’t even have to look to know, but I do anyway.
My eyes do a quick sweep of the bar before they land on Clay.
He’s standing near the wall, half in shadow, a whiskey in his hand. Even from across the room, it’s like the crowd parts around him, and he’s all I can see. My chest goes tight, breath catching before I force myself to move. Grabbing the towel from my shoulder, I wipe my hands off and pour another round, desperate to keep myself busy to avoid staring at him.
I keep my head down, but I can feel him.
Every time I turn, every step I take behind the bar, it’s like his eyes track me. My pulse won’t settle. It’s not the music or the crowd. It’s the weight of him being here.
A guy wearing gold sunglasses shaped into the year leans in close. His breath is heavy with the scent of beer. He grips my arm across the bar and slides a crumpled bill to me. “Come on, sweetheart. Give me a smile.”
I stiffen. “Hands to yourself.”
He grins, unbothered. “Don’t be like that—”
He tugs me closer to him, but before I even move to defend myself, Jimmy’s there intervening. He claps his hand around the guy’s arm, wrenching it back at an angle that has me wondering if he’s going to dislocate it entirely. “You heard her, motherfucker. Now you’re out. Consider that a tip for dealin’ with your sorry ass.”
The drunk mutters something I can’t make out as he stumbles off, both he and Jimmy swallowed by the crowd. Iexhale heavily, turning back to the bar like nothing happened, but my hands are shaking.
And when I glance up, Clay’s gone from where he was. He’s standing in the drunk’s spot now, his whiskey glass already forgotten.
The expression on his face is controlled fury. Like he was one second away from throwing that guy through the wall if Jimmy hadn’t gotten to him first.
Our eyes lock, and my stomach flips.
There’s something dangerous in his stare. A mix of protectiveness and anger, and I’m the first to look away. I have to because if I look at him too long, I’ll forget everything.
I’ll forget where I am, forget who we are, and all the reasons we can’t be together still hanging over us.
We’re running low on ice, so I slip through the swinging door leading to the back and head for the freezer. I’m barely through the door when I hear it slam into the wall behind me.
I turn to find Clay standing there, his arms crossed. He’s dressed casually in dark jeans and a white T-shirt, but every inch of him is coiled tight.
For a second, I just stand there staring at him, my heart racing.
