One step toward her before I catch myself. I force my feet to stay planted. I force my hands to stay at my sides. If I go to her now, I won't stop. My hand will grab her wrist. Her name will come out like an accusation. I'll make a scene she doesn't deserve.
My plan to find a warm body for the night evaporates instantly. She's here; she's the only thing I can see.
"Gio!"
Someone slaps my back. I flinch, turning to see Dante waving a red cup at me.
"Where the hell have you been, man? Party started an hour ago."
"Around," I say, eyes already drifting back to Zoë. She hasn't seen me yet. "Busy."
"Well, you're here now." He shoves the cup into my hand. "Drink. We're doing shots at the keg in five."
I take the cup, but I don't drink.
I watch Zoë turn her head. Zoë spots Maya, offers a tight, polite smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Zoë looks tired.
And she looks fucking perfect.
I grip the plastic cup until it buckles. I told myself she was replaceable, just a means to an end. But seeing her across the room, surrounded by noise and chaos, the only thing I can think is that the noise is too loud and she is the only quiet thing in the room.I'm fucked.
I crush the cup in my hand, beer sloshing over my knuckles, and toss it into the nearest trash can. I need a reaction. I need to see that ice crack. If she can look at me like I'm nothing, then I'm going to show her exactly how replaceable I can be.
A sophomore drifts past me—a blonde with too much mascara and a dress that's barely holding her in. She looks hungry. Easy.
I reach out and catch her wrist, pulling her into my orbit. She stumbles, giggling, the scent of vanilla and cheap booze hitting me in a wave that smells nothing like Zoë.
"Hi," she breathes, eyes wide.
"Hi," I say, turning her so her back is to the room. My hand slides to her waist, settling on bare skin. It's soft. Unresisting. Wrong.
I lean down, brushing my lips against her ear. She shivers, tilting her head to give me better access. It's mechanical. A script I've run a hundred times.
My eyes never leave Zoë.
She's watching.
I drag my mouth down the sophomore's neck, pressing a wet, open kiss just below her earlobe. The girl moans, a soft, practiced sound that scrapes against my nerves.
I keep my eyes open. I stare at Zoë, waiting for the flare of temper. Waiting for the sharp tongue or the cold glare.
She takes a sip of her drink. Her expression doesn't change. She looks bored. Like she's watching a rerun she stopped caring about seasons ago.
Something in my chest caves.
I grip the sophomore's waist harder, pulling her flush against me. She grinds her ass against my cock, but I'm half-hard at best. This is a tantrum.
"You want to get out of here?" the girl asks, turning her head to look at me.
I don't answer. I just watch Zoë turn away to say something to Maya.
She dismissed me.
"Hey," the girl says, her voice tightening. "You're not even—"
"Go," I say, releasing her waist and stepping back. "Get lost."
She blinks, the hunger in her eyes curdling into offense. "Asshole."
