Page 19 of Slick Trip

I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. “You will not ask Luke for anything.”

Especially if you don’t want me to beat the shit out of him.

His face practically lit up with trouble.

“Like I needed your permission.” He tilted his head, studying me. “Why did you interrupt us anyway? I was having fun. Luke’s so hot.”

I knew what he was doing. I fucking knew and I still fell for it.

“You call acting like a jerk fun?”

“I wasn’t acting like a jerk,” Cooper shot back. “Luke’s into me. What’s the big deal?”

“He’s—” I had nothing. Nothing except the jealousy I was slowly drowning in. “Stay away from Luke,” I said. Or growled. Because I was too fucking gone.

A triumphant smile spread across Cooper’s face. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.” I was. I was so fucking jealous I considered going downstairs to punch Luke for letting Cooper sit in his lap.

The only lap Cooper was allowed to sit in was mine.

He took a step closer. “You are,” he said softly. “Or you wouldn’t have intervened.”

Swallowing took actual effort. My traitorous body was reacting—tightening my muscles, sharpening my words.

“Are you proud of yourself right now? Playing with Luke’s feelings?”

The hypocrisy made me sick. It wasn’t Luke I was worried about, it was the starving, territorial beast in my own chest that I had tried so hard to tame.

“Luke knows it didn’t mean anything,” Cooper said defensively. “He knows he’s not the one I—”

He cut himself off, looking suddenly so hurt and lost that I felt a pang of guilt.

“Why did you drag me up here?” he demanded.

“You’re Jack’s little brother. Someone needs to look after you.” Even as I said it, I knew it sounded weak. I didn’t believe it. Cooper sure as hell didn’t believe it.

He took another step closer, his chest almost brushing mine.

“Saint Jon,” he mocked, his breath warm against my chin.

“I’m no saint,” I muttered. “You need to sober up.”

“I’m not drunk,” he snapped. “You just like to pretend I am because the alternative would be admitting the truth.”

I clenched my jaw. He was so close. I could have run my fingers through his curls, tugged them a little. I wanted to press my thumb against his mouth just to see if he’d bite it—or let me in.

“And what truth is that exactly?” I rasped. I was playing with fire, but I didn’t even care. I was already burning.

“The real reason you asked me to follow.” He gave me a knowing smile. It made my self-control snap like a dry twig.

“I asked you to follow because you’ve been pushing me all damn night, acting like a brat, and I’m losing my fucking patience.”

Hurt flashed across his face, but he recovered fast. This time, his smile was darker. “You know what your problem is, Jon?”

I didn’t answer, knowing he would no doubt enlighten me.

“You’re scared of wanting something for yourself. Because if you admit you want it, you might actually get it, and that scares the shit out of you, doesn’t it?”