With You: With you, I am who I want to be.

by Jensen Kristyne

  Theo takes a step and turns toward me. “Can I talk you for a moment?”

  I nod my head.

  I allow him to help me down as he leads me to the full-length window wall, on the far side of the building, that overlooks the giant field out back. He releases my arm. “I don’t care who you call, but you need to leave. Now.”

  Hold the phone. . .

  “Why do I have to leave?”

  “Because I—fuck! I don’t have to explain myself to you, Brielle. Just fucking leave!”

  I look back over my shoulder and see Becks laughing at something Blake said. Then Katrina steps out of the office hall. The sight of her prompts a memory to flash across my mind—of Theo and her, barging through the door. Their lips locked as he pressed her against the wall.

  “Is it Katrina? Are you worried I might say something and ruin whatever you’ve got going on with her?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I roll my eyes. "Theo, I’m not leaving."

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not. Mostly because I haven’t even texted Luca yet. So he’s at least fifteen minutes out. But also, because I don’t want to.”

  Theo sets his jaw, then turns to look out the window. "Of course he’s waiting for you. He’s always been such the good, little pet."

  I stifle my temper and walk over next to him. My heels wobble the whole way until I’m able to steady myself on the glass panel.

  "Okay, maybe I could have done without that last shot." I hedge, fixing my dress as Theo shifts his stance to face me.

  His eyes trail down with my hands as I run them down my dress, smoothing out the creases. The weight of his stare ignites the skin along my cheeks.

  Focus Brielle! I hear my conscious yelling at me. You’re mad at him, remember?

  Right.

  "Look, I get it. Something happened between you and Luca, but he’s my best friend. So whatever it is, I don’t care. Just stop talking about him like that.”

  “Best friend? What a load.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Theo laughs. The rude tone in his voice, makes me want to reach over and smack him. “I think we both know that’s not all he is. But, hey, I honestly don’t care what he is. He’s nothing to me.”

  I glance back at the group and find Katrina watching us. Her long, blonde hair is draped over her shoulders. I look up at Theo and see those brilliant green eyes of his. Is that what he expects from the people he hangs around with? For everyone to blindly follow his commands? Like Devon did when he told her to leave?

  I drop my eyes to the floor, feeling my anger swell in my chest. Just who exactly does he think he is now? I’m not some child; I refuse to be bossed around!

  “Luca aside, I’m sorry if my being here is uncomfortable for you. But deal with it! You don’t get to tell me what to do, Theo.” I watch his eyes grow wide and hear his breath catch in his throat, but I can’t stop, “If either of us should be the one to leave, it’s you. But I appreciate your concern.”

  I turn to leave, but Theo reaches out and grasps my wrist. “Will you just listen to me? Damn it. I’m telling you to leave because I know the type of after-party Ethan is referring to, and they turn ugly. Fast. Trust me, you’re not going to want to be any part of it.”

  I rip my hand back from his grip. “I’m staying Theo, deal with it. Besides, it’s your club. Why don’t you make them leave if you really don’t want them here? I can’t leave Becks.”

  “Because their parents are—” He tightens his hand into a fist. “Forget it! You wouldn’t understand!”

  “I might if you tried to explain it.”

  “Just—forget it. We’ll both stay. It’s not like I wouldn’t rather be doing anything else with my night. Now I have to stay to watch out for your ungrateful ass.”

  Ungrateful?

  “How am I ungrateful? I didn’t ask you to stay, Theo. I told you to leave!”

  “Fine. You want me gone? I’m gone.”

  I squint my eyes at the back of his head as he starts toward Katrina.

  “Hey, Theo!” I yell when he’s about halfway to her. He pauses, twisting his head to the side to look back at me. “Make sure to tell her she's pretty."

  A smug smile spreads along his lips. “Have a nice night, Brielle.” His jaw flits under the skin, as he continues, “I know I will.”

  chapter eight

  THEO

  Somehow I just knew that somewhere Luca was waiting for Brielle, and sure enough, I was right. That guy is obsessed. He’s probably been sitting in his car, watching his phone for hours—like the “good” guy that he is—just waiting for her to call. Fuck. I hate him. I hate that I let my temper run away with me too.

  Out of all the people in my life, Brielle is the last person I ever want to hurt. So much so that after I left Katrina’s house at two forty I’ve been driving around for the past hour, just trying to cool my head. For someone whose life revolves around chaos and fixing other people’s problems, I’ve learned to demand control. Control of the room, and the people in it. But like a drug, control is addictive. Just ask my father. I need it, crave it, and when I don’t get it, I get pissed.

  And with Brielle, she just loves to test me. She always has. I made the mistake of slipping up with her, once, because of certain feelings—feelings I allowed to cloud my judgement. It’s because of that mistake that I almost lost Mason and her that night.

  It isn’t until Wes calls me and asks if he can offer Becks the open bartending position that I finally feel like I can breathe again—not because of Becks but because he told me they were still at the club, which means there’s still a chance that I can see Brielle. If I hurry. . .

  I know I need to apologize for being an ass, but damn it if I wouldn’t rather just avoid the whole thing. I kill the engine, and head inside Haze, spotting blond waves the second I walk through the door—only, they aren't from my girl, but Wes.

  Fuck. Did I just say, my girl?

  Brielle. It’s not Brielle.

  I set my keys down on the bar top. "Ugh, how's everything going?" I shift my eyes around the room and swallow the urge to call out her name. Instead, I focus on the obvious, which is . . . this place is a fucking mess. I check my watch. Eh, we’re still five hours out before the morning cleaning crew arrives. One problem at a time.

  "I swear, it’ll be clean before Barb gets here." Wes shoots me a glassy look when he reads my expression. His smile is bright, but I’m not convinced. I lean over the bar and find a passed-out Becks lying on his lap. “And before you ask, I have no clue where Brielle is.”

  I shake my head and shrug as if I don’t understand what he’s insinuating. "I didn’t ask where she was." But inside, I’m ready to tear his fucking limbs off. What the hell does he mean he has no clue where she is? The place isn’t that big.

  I crane my neck, when I hear her laugh echo from the office hall. When I turn back around, Wes is downing the last of a bottle of Jack Daniels. “And women say romance is dead.” I point down at Becks. “Take her home.”

  "But what about . . .” Losing his train of thought, he lets his words trail off, while rubbing the back of his neck.

  "Brielle? Yeah, let me worry about Brielle,” I tell him, and for some reason, I can’t hide my smile. The idea of Brielle being trapped inside my truck, forced to talk to me as I drive her home, makes something weird kick up in my chest. I twist around and notice Ethan and Penny are missing, too, as well as that asshole with the pitchfork for a head. “Where’s everyone else?”

  "Blake took off with Brielle, and the twins left for a party over in Aubrey,” Wes says, slowly peeling himself out from under Becks. The hard rap of her head as it hits the ground when he forgets to hold it up, makes me cringe internally. “Whoops.”

  He shoots me an arrogant smirk that makes me want to reach over and punch him. But I won’t. I’ve got other things on my mind, like who the hell this Blake guy is, and why he seems so interested in talking to Brielle.
<
br />   “Just get her home. Safely. Call a cab if you have to; just don’t drive.”

  I wait until he nods before I head to the office. I reach the hall, when my phone goes off. Jesus, it’s Katrina. I decline the call and see the string of notifications that have been accumulating since I left. But I’m purposefully ignoring them because: a) Who the fuck does that, especially, when you know, and they know, that they’re being rejected? b) I know that if I do answer, she's going to want to know why I left as early as I did, and I can't juggle that ball of crazy while I’m trying to talk to Brielle.

  When I reach the office, I find the door is shut. That’s when I hear it—the sound of Brielle’s innocent laughter, which dredges up memories I've long since tried to forget. Like. . .how much I actually love the sound of her laugh. I swallow my nerves and open the door, praying for Blakes sake that I don’t find the two of them enacting a similar scene that Brielle found me in, earlier this evening.

  But, thankfully, she’s alone.

  I step into the room when she turns and sees me.

  "Theo?" She’s sitting on the floor with her legs drawn up to her chest. The half-empty glass in her hand looks mostly watered down. She peers up and over the top of a book, seeming surprised to see me. But whether that’s a bad or good thing, I’m not sure. "What are you doing here?"

  I don’t answer her as my mind dawdles on the mossy hue of her eyes. Her hair is now pulled into a bun that shows off her slim jaw and neckline. I let my eyes drift over her body until I notice that she’s set the book down and is watching me.

  Damn it.

  I force a cough and point down at the book.

  "What's so funny?"

  She hesitates, probably having caught on to me, before she picks up the book and opens it. The page she’d ended on is dog-eared, in a true Brielle sort of way.

  "Oh, it's just this book I found in your lost and found."

  “We have a lost and found?”

  She tilts her head, her full lips pulling back into a smile. She taps the floor beside her. "Come read with me. I just got to a good part. It's a love scene." Her words are light, but I can tell that there's more to it than that.

  "A love scene, huh?" I half laugh, half choke.

  The idea of her reading an erotic novel almost amuses me as much as it terrifies me. Before I know it, I find myself wondering what she would think if she could read my thoughts right now. My girl and a million different—all filthy—scenarios. Each one of which ending with her panting and moaning my name until she's begging for me to fuck her, which, I would, happily. There’s only one difference . . . she'd be too spent to laugh.

  I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. Shit, I'm struggling here. Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

  Let me guess," she says, her head falling back to rest on the leather chaise behind her. "Per usual, you hear love scene and immediately think of sex. Am I right?" When I don’t answer, she closes the book and stands up. Her eyes hold mine as she walks the short distance to where I’m standing and taps the book to my chest. "No wonder Katrina is in such good shape. She has to be, with that dirty mind of yours."

  My smile drops instantly, and I narrow my gaze. The sound of Katrina's name on Brielle's lips is foreign in a nauseating way. I have to admit, I thought she’d still be too pissed to even want to talk. Most girls would be.

  I see her waiting for me to respond, so I say, "Says the girl who’s reading kinky, sex stories over here." I shake my head, trying to recover. But I can tell she's noticed. I watch the corner of her lips curl into that seductive grin of hers—the one I love so much. Shit. Did I just say love?

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Brielle bites her lip and I can’t seem to look away. Jesus. Why does she keep doing that?

  "Did Becks say something to you about me?"

  What?

  “No,” I say. What the hell is that supposed to mean? And because I’m a nosey asshole, I ask, “Why? Is there something I should know?” I let out a breath, watching her as she sits down and sets the book by her side. The flimsy bit of paper rubs the outside of her thigh, and for a split second, I’m jealous of that book touching her when I can’t.

  “Forget it. I thought you were . . . it’s nothing.”

  Right. I’m sure it is.

  I feel the muscles in my jaw tick as she picks the book back up. She licks her lips, then presses them together. With all the talk of sex, I feel my curiosity pique. Suddenly, I can’t help but wonder what it is that she, herself, imagines when she lies down at night and touches herself. Does she think of the men in her books? Does she picture Luca?

  At that thought, I tighten my fists, forcing myself to take a breath. The idea of her even thinking about finding pleasure with him makes my skin itch. The kind of anger that can only be solved with a fight, a hot shower, and a good fuck.

  "Why aren’t you out there with the others? And where, um—I close my eyes—"where is that Blake guy?" My right hand moves to my face, as I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying desperately to think of something other than her and whatever is going on in that book.

  "Well, I got hungry. And he. . ."

  I take in a deep breath and try to steady myself. The better part of my inner mind begins scolding me, giving me all the reasons why I should turn around and leave. I should just call one of my guys and have them take her home, but for some reason, I can’t get my damn legs to move from this spot.

  “Theo? Did you hear me?”

  Nope.

  "Sorry, yes," I say, then cross the room and slide down in the seat beside her.

  Sitting this close makes our shoulders brush against one another's, and like she used to—back before any of the bad shit happened—she leans into my side. Her head nestles atop my shoulder, while she tilts the book up so that I can read along with her.

  "Hey, I should really be getting you home—"

  "Shh, this is the good part."

  I roll my eyes at the sheer control this girl has over me, and I eventually relent. For a minute, I allow myself to forget that any time has passed, and I pull her closer to me. When she doesn’t resist, I press my lips into her hair and breathe in the smell of her coconut shampoo. Everything about her is so familiar. But it’s also excitingly new.

  "Hey, are you okay?" I hear her voice. The subtle concern behind her words makes me freeze, and in a matter of seconds, she shifts to face me. Shit. What just happened?

  "Come on, Romeo. I think you need some air. You look a little pale." She smiles, reaching out with the back of her wrist and presses it to my forehead. "I swear, you’re such a guy. Any talk of intimacy, and you start to sweat—"

  I reach for her wrist and take hold of it. Whatever else she was about to say quickly fades away. For the next few seconds, she sits, quietly appraising my every move. With her free hand, she reaches out and touches a spot along my chest.

  "Your heart's racing." Her words are soft and breathy. But I feel the exact opposite. I feel like it’s stopped.

  "Brielle, I—"

  I force myself to stop talking when I hear the sound of someone beating on the door. If it’s Wes, I swear I’m going to kill him. Then I’ll thank him for stopping me from doing something stupid. I've never been more grateful for his nosey ass tendencies than I am in this moment. Besides the fact that Brielle’s drunk, I have to struggle trying to keep my head straight, especially when it comes to her. Too much time alone with her clouds my judgement.

  Halfway to the door it opens to reveal Blake. He peers around my shoulder and takes a giant step into the room. When his eyes find Brielle, she smiles and waves. But before he can take another step, I block his path. “The fuck are you doing in here?"

  "Theo," I hear Brielle's gentle warning. I turn around and watch her close the book and set it on my desk.

  I take in her appearance and wonder why the hell she’s so calm, all of a sudden. Is it me? Was I projecting my feelings for this girl on the situation? Or is she just be
tter at covering it up?

  I watch her walk to the door, her hand pulling it open the rest of the way, as Blake stares openly at her body. His eyes rake up and down the length of her while she makes her way down the hall. I curl my fists.

  "You ready to get out of here, love? I kept it warm for you."

  Kept it. . . warm?

  "What the hell did you just say to her?" I grab the guy. My hand fists at the collar of his tattered shirt, and I shove him into the wall.

  “Theo, stop!” Brielle yells. Her hand gently works to peel away my fingers until the last of the material is sprung from my grip. She steps between us. “Just calm down. What the hell is going on with you?”

  With me? Was she planning on going home with this asshole?

  "Her soup, man. I was talking about her soup. She said she was hungry, so I left and went to get her something other than peanuts and leftover bar food.”

  I grit my teeth, trying to push back the building desire to punch him square in the jaw, but instead I take a step back. Leaning over Brielle, I point my finger at his chest. “That better damn well be the only thing you meant.”

  “Seriously? Now you’re threatening him?” Brielle’s disapproving tone hits me, and I look down to see her face screwed up in anger.

  Jesus. I laugh.

  She’s right. What the hell am I doing?

  I press the palms of my hands against my eyes and head into my office. Brielle calls out to me, but I slam the door shut. I need space. I don't know why that guy staring at her bothers me so damn much. But it does. This is why I didn't tell her that I was back. Whenever I’m around her, I lose the ability to think clearly. A classic example of a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation.

  I waste the next ten minutes mindlessly shifting papers around the desk. I push a hand through my hair, take in a deep breath, and walk out to the bar. The second I do, I see them. My eyes are pinned to the way he subtly leans into her while he talks. She smiles, but I can’t tell if it’s forced or sincere.