I take another beer and walk around a bit when my friend from boxing class stops me to chat. I nod while he talks, not listening to a word, keeping an eye on her, when she—
No way.
She grabs the bottle and spins it.
No fucking way.
I shove my beer into Logan’s chest and slam our shoulders together as I rush past him, marching to the round table in the middle of that sofa, catching the bottle seconds before it stops on one of the shitfaces and pointing its tip at me.
Everyone stops mid-movement, quiet now, everyone staring at me like I’m the last person they’d expect to see here, while I’m staring at Kiara.
After a long stretching second, she finally drags her eyes from the bottle to me. I stand there for an awkward moment, everyone staring, including her.
Then I reach for her, offering her a hand.
She gives me a sharp look before she finally grabs it and gets up from the couch.
The second her hand is in mine, something in me finally settles like I’ve been waiting for it all night.
She rises, slipping past everyone’s knees with small, careful steps, her hand still in mine as I guide her out of the circle. I lace our fingers together—God knows where I found the balls to do that, maybe it was the beer—and lead us toward the bathroom, only now realizing everyone is staring at me.
I open the door and gently push her inside. She hesitates for a split second but steps in anyway. I close the door behind us and lock it.
Her eyes widen.
I know she’s pissed, I can practically feel the heat coming off her, but I can’t stop the tiny smile tugging at my mouth.
She’s here. Right in front of me again.
“Aren’t we a little old for this game?” I say, trying to sound innocent.
It sounds anything but.
“Aren’t you a little too intrusive for someone who acted like he didn’t even know me a couple hours ago?”
Her tone is sharp, brows raised.
She’s right. I swallow. I deserved that.
“I’m sorry. I’ll explain,” I say, not breaking eye contact.
Her gaze softens, her arms crossing over her chest.
It seems now’s the time to do the explaining.
And I’ve got absolutely nothing.
“You just,” I search for words. “Caught me off guard.”
What the hell am I even saying?
Her expression sharpens, lips pressing together. She’s pissed. Really pissed.
Something tightens in my gut, something sick and panicking. She huffs and reaches for the lock.
I grab the handle before she can, not letting the door open, and our eyes snap back together.
She tilts her head, angry and so damn pretty it hurts.
