Page 55 of Holding Penalty

He’s with Abbie, dancing to the upbeat song playing over the speakers. Their bodies are close. They move affectionately and passionately together.

It’s not jealousy that fills me. I know that for sure. I’d no sooner think of taking Crew back than I’d consider digging to the bottom of a trash can to retrieve a half gallon of curdled milk I threw out a week ago.

But it’s not a good feeling, either. There’s resentment in there, mixed with outrage. He was cheating on me with this woman and was fully willing to walk down the aisle while still doing so.

Yet here they are, out dancing together on a Friday night like they’re a normal couple with nothing to be ashamed of. The audacity offends me, even though I know I shouldn’t care.

I feel Nash’s attention on me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I deflect instinctively. But my eyes stay pointed at Crew and Abbie. Nash follows the direction of my gaze. I sense him tense next to me.

“Him.” His voice is gruff with animosity. “If you want him kicked out, I can make it happen. Either by talking to security or picking him up by the scruff of his neck and tossing him out myself. For the record, I like the second option.”

Even though I’m still pissed from seeing Crew, a pleasant, secure feeling clicks behind my chest at Nash’s protective reaction.

“No, that’s not necessary,” I say. Even though the sight in my mind of Nash manhandling Crew out of the bar is fairly appealing. And maybe a little arousing.

Crew’s eyes slide over, locking with my own. A cold feeling gathers in my stomach. But then he ticks his eyes in Nash’s direction, and something sparks in Crew’s expression that makes me feel warmer.

Jealousy.

A bitter grimace tugs at his face, while unmistakable jealousy makes a dull gleam in his eyes.

Satisfaction hits me behind my sternum. It’s petty, but I can’t help it. I’m glad he’s jealous. It somehow takes the edge off the negative reaction I had from spotting him here.

“He looks jealous,” Nash whispers to me, a pleased note in his voice to match my own feeling. “He should be.”

I take another drink, a larger gulp this time. A pleasant buzz washes through me. The rest of the guys at the table are wrapped up in their own conversations, so Nash and I can talk without being overheard.

“I bet we could make him feel even more jealous.” Nash’s mischievous tone is like a devil on my shoulder, whispering at me to do something I know I shouldn’t.

But I take another gulp of my drink, not in the mood for wise judgment right now.

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“If that’s how he looks at us sitting together, how do you think he’ll look at us dancing together?”

Nash stands up and holds his hand out. Electricity tips into the air, and it feels like something more than our normal chemistry. I slide my hand into his, and with the other I dip my glass to my mouth, pulling down the last of my drink.

The liquor tingles down my throat, and as my glass empties, I can’t help but feel that my better judgment has drained away with it. I follow Nash onto the dance floor.

Just as we push into the mass of bodies, It Just Comes Natural by George Strait starts playing. Excitement ripples through the bar as more people join the crowd dancing.

Crew and Abbie are near us. Nash pulls me close. The sheer presence of his broad, tall body has every one of my senses going haywire.

He starts to move his body to the rhythm. His motion is limber and easy, but something about the way his muscles flex and ripple with his movement makes it clear what other kind of explosive, powerful motions his body is capable of.

I know Crew is close. I wonder if he’s looking at me. If he’s even more jealous, like Nash said he’d be. I go to turn my head and check, but Nash stops me.

“No, don’t look at him. Let him look at you.”

The thought of Crew staring a hole through us, eyes pinched with frustrated jealousy while I don’t even spare him a passing glance sends a ripple of confidence and empowerment through me. I take Nash’s advice, studiously ignoring my ex-fiancé and joining Nash in the rhythm.

“He is, by the way,” Nash says. “Looking at you, that is. And he looks damn jealous.”

The cocky smirk on Nash’s lips is infectious. One blooms on my mouth to match.

We keep dancing. I get close to him, but not too close. Not dangerously close. Until he dips his head, close enough that I can feel his hot breath on the shell of my ear.