"I'm not jealous."
He moves away from the wall. Not much, just an inch. "I think you are."
"What could I possibly be jealous of?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Could it be that you've just taken on a little too overzealous of a role in protecting your best friend's little brother? Or is it that you want me all for yourself?"
"You're drunk. You don't know what the fuck you're saying."
"But I remember how you changed the second Austin sat down. Which makes me wonder, was it the girls at the bar?" He leans into my ear and I can feel his warmth wash through my entire body as he whispers, "Or is it Austin that you were worried about losing me to?"
I grit my teeth. "I don't care who you choose to fuck."
He lets out a gentle laugh. "And yet you're still here, holding me hostage."
"I just want my keys."
"I told you I don't have them."
"I-I don't believe you," I stutter. I'm losing control. My edge. I'm completely sober but he's making me feel dizzy. Blood isswirling around my head like a hurricane, and my pulse has been hammering out of control for so long I can't believe I haven't blacked out.
Carey slouches back against the wall, raises his arms above his head, and grips his left wrist with his right hand. "So why don't you check for yourself?"
This isn’t an invitation, it’s a challenge.
He doesn’t break eye contact, he just gives me a half grin that makes me feel like my entire chest is splitting open—as if I was made for the sole purpose of being hollowed out by Carey Novak and that goddamn flippant smile.
His whole body is on display for me in the most obscene way I’ve ever seen someone so fully clothed. It doesn’t make sense, he’s just leaning back against a wall, so it’s got to be in the way his hips jut out. All his weight is on his shoulders, and he’s slumped down just enough to be looking up at me, feigning a submissiveness that doesn’t feel natural to him.
His unzipped jacket has fallen apart to bare his chest, the dark grey fabric of his shirt stretched tight. Except it’s not his shirt. I knew it the second he put it on back in the shop because I’d been the one to convince Eden to buy it.
“Go ahead,” he says.
My right hand drops from the wall to land heavy on his shoulder before I can stop it.
Carey lets that arm fall loose at his side, and I drag my hand the whole way down the length of it until I reach his wrist. And that’s as far as I can go with the intensity of his stare on me like a spotlight.
I hang my head, refusing to look, but not to stop touching him.
I move to his waist, his muscles instantly tensing. I swipe my thumb, feeling for his hip bone, and he shudders—his hips moving further away from the wall.
I scoop up against his side, and the shirt rises.
I keep going until I can feel his ribs.
He’s shaking now.
His other arm falls from the wall, his hand landing on the back of my neck.
His fingers are so cold against my skin they feel hot.
“Th-there’s no pocket’s there,” his voice shakes.
My feet shuffle closer.
Carey pulls me forward until my forehead is pressed against his. “Are you just messing with me because I’m drunk?”
I open my mouth, but it takes several more seconds for me to fully process his words and how they puffed against my chin.
