"He's just a guy that hit on me at Haze, then spilled his beer all over me and—"
"Wait. That's who Wes threw out?" I growl, pushing off the wall.
"No, wait! Theo, don’t!" I feel her hand on my arm and I immediately halt. Jesus. How does she have so much control over me? I look down at her hand, then to those amazing green eyes of hers, pleading for me to listen. She drops her hand. "He isn't worth it, okay? Please, don't make me watch you fight."
Damn it. If this girl wasn't my fucking weakness, I'd tell her to fuck off and go and find that guy. Instead, I lift my hand to her face and brush my thumb over her bottom lip. My mind instantly goes back to the last time we were alone together, and the feel of her body under mine.
"What would you do if I kissed you?" I say the words aloud watch the curiosity build behind her eyes.
Her smile wavers as she contemplates something. But, too soon, she lifts her chin from my grasp and turns her head back in the door’s direction. I almost want to laugh, but can't, when an image of her and Luca rears its ugly head in the back of my mind—of her relaxing back into his arm, and him with his fucking hands on her.
"What? Don’t want Luca to see us together like this?"
"That's not fair."
"How so?"
"How so? Theo, your girlfriend is literally sitting inside, waiting for you to come back."
It’s my turn not to look in the direction of the door, as I let out a small laugh. "Katrina is not my girlfriend," I say in a matter-of-fact tone. “She’s just the daughter of some asshole my dad is currently schmoozing. I don’t date.”
"Does she know that?" I can hear the disapproval clear in her voice.
I move towards her then, watching as she matches me, step per step, in the opposite direction. Soon I have her right where I want her—cornered against the wall. Her breath catches every so often while she waits to see what I'll do next. I press my hands to her sides and lean into her. The feel of her body so close, loosens my reserve to push her away.
"You’d better be careful, Brielle. Or I might think you’re jealous.”
“There’s that cockiness I haven’t missed. Go ahead. Think what you want.”
“So you are jealous." I pull back and find her green eyes lingering on my mouth.
Her full lips purse, and it takes all I have not to close the space between us and claim that innocent mouth of hers. The only thing stopping me is my selfish desire to hear her say it, because, if nothing else, it tells me that I haven't been the only one losing my damn mind.
“Say it. Tell me you’re jealous of Katrina, and I won’t go after that asshole.”
Her lips part further, as a vision of them wrapped around my cock flashes across my mind, like a bad joke. Fuck, I want this girl. What the hell is wrong with me? I look down to the cut of her shirt and smile while eyeing the modest amount of skin that swells over the top of it. I lick my lips and raise my hand to run my finger along the curve of her breasts, unable to help myself.
She presses her lips together and closes her eyes.
"Say it, Brielle," I groan, impatiently.
She lets out a soft moan, and I lean down to kiss the corner of her mouth, greedily wanting to steal it for myself. I can feel my cock straining against my jeans, and impulsively, I push it against her hip. She inhales a sharp, quick breath and holds it.
Jesus. I need to stop, or I’m going to scare her away.
What the hell is she doing to me?
"Okay. I- I’m, jea- jealous . . ." She relents, and I tilt her chin up and kiss the side of her neck—not sure if I was rewarding her for finally giving me what I wanted, or if it wasn’t because I needed it more than her.
I hear her gasp and feel her nails dig into the back of my arm as she leans back against the wall and slowly gives in to the moment. She allows my touch. In fact, I think she wants it just as badly as I do. And like the asshole I am, I have no intention of stopping—no matter who she’s dating. Or “friends” with—so she says. Whatever the fuck that means. She was mine first.
"Wait. No. Stop. We can’t do this again. I need to get back to . . ."
I drop my hand and take a step back. Damn it, if she doesn't know how to ruin a mood. Even when Luca isn't here, the fucker's still a damn cockblock. I move to a table closest to us and take a seat, then sweep my eyes over at the audience we seem to have amassed. Does no one have anything better to do?
Brielle comes around and sits in front of me. Her petite frame and perfect curves make it impossible for me to want to look beyond her and at the onlookers, who, on any other day, I'd tell to fuck off.
"It’s not what you think. I told you, Luca and I—"
"Yeah. No. I get it."
I run my hand across my chin, cursing myself for allowing the moment to even happen. I keep forgetting that this is one of the reasons why I left in the first place. I’ve always wanted this girl too damn much.
“Not like it meant anything anyway. Just a little fun.”
She looks at me, and I can see the hurt cross her face before she says, “Fun. Right.”
Twenty minutes later, when Liam becomes conscious again, he asks for a rematch, and the thought of another fight is Brielle’s final straw. I’m not surprised at all, Brielle has always hated seeing people in pain. But it’s weird seeing her get so upset for someone she’s never met before. I mean, I have to admit, it was far from a fair fight. Tucker annihilated Liam in under a minute. But the guy knew what he was getting himself into.
After they leave, I replay the moments that led to her leaving, up to the part when I had to sit there and watch as she leaned into Luca’s side and asked him to save her from this place. Shit. Kalie, the waitress, couldn’t bring the drinks fast enough at that point.
It’s around midnight, when we head for the truck, and a figure steps into view. Behind him, I can see the outline of four others shifting nervously.
Jesus.
Right on time.
I knew this asshole would be waiting for me. Guys like him never learn. I tilt my wrist up so that I can look at my watch, then shrug out of my jacket, handing it to Katrina to hold. Eh, I got time.
“You ready for our fight?” he says, and I can tell from his voice that he’s sobered up since our last encounter. “There’s no one to hide behind, now that your bitch is gone.”
I turn my head to the side and crack my neck. My hands are already itching to be released as I curl them along my sides. This is what I’ve been waiting for—the adrenaline high only fighting can give. I was robbed of it earlier tonight out of fear of what Brielle would think, but now that she’s gone, there’s nothing stopping me. If for no other reason, fighting helps me feel something when I otherwise can’t.
An image pricks at the back of my mind but I bury it. Real men don’t let others define them, I let my father’s words fill the space instead. I gave up letting myself believe I could ever have what I truly wanted long ago.
I widen my stance and point to his friend on the right. “Just remind him tomorrow, he asked for this.”
Half an hour later, and two fights in, I open my eyes and hold my breath. The musky smell of the locker room, singeing my nostrils. After that fucker dropped—not two minutes into the fight—I had the sudden urge to let off some steam. Mack couldn’t have been more excited to see me walk back in.
Ah! I inhale in a deep breath through my nose, then release it. I'm pretty sure this last one bruised a rib. Fucking asshole.
"Ew. Yeah, he kicked you good," Katrina's annoying ass voice is in my ear.
"I'll be fine." I grab my side, and using my legs, I pull myself up off the bench. "Thanks for the concern."
I pull my T-shirt over my head—with no help from this girl—and hear my phone buzz. I pull it from my pocket. Who the fuck. . . oh. . . it's him. My dad. Of course he'd text me now. I don't know who else I expected it to be. It’s not like Brielle’s going to want to talk to me much after tonight. After we had gone back inside, she shut me out. O
ther than the few side glances and short responses, she pretty much kept to herself. Even my best attempts at getting a rise out of her had failed.
I may have taken things I bit far. I just couldn’t resist. She’s always been like a drug to me. The more I’m around her, the more I crave her. It’s unhealthy.
I look down to find three separate messages from my dad.
Did you talk to Katrina yet?
Get her to go, Theo!
No excuses.
Fucking prick. I toss my phone back on the bench and cut my eyes over to Katrina for a second as I pull the legs of my jeans up. Jesus. I grab my side; this bruised rib is going to be a problem for a while.
"You ready to go?" I ask Katrina and quickly shrug on my leather jacket.
"Yup."
She jumps off the bench, pulling her bag over her shoulder. Her long, blonde hair trails behind her as she walks to the door. She pauses only long enough for me to open it for her. When I do, she tosses her hair and carries on.
You’re welcome.
I used to think having manners mattered with girls. But with Katrina, she expects it so much that I almost hate to do it just so that I can piss her off. I let the door swing shut behind me as I step out amid the hundreds of people packed around the ring as another pair begins their fight.
I shoot Mack a nod when we reach the door. That asshole owes me still for tonight's win, but I'll get it later. Shit. I should make him pay extra for his friend fighting dirty. But I won’t. It made for an interesting twist. He's lucky I only knocked him out. I could have done a lot worse.
We exit the bar, and I see my truck. I pull my keys out of my pocket and start it remotely so that by the time we're inside, it'll have cooled off for Katrina. Not that she’ll notice as she’s barely looked up from her phone for more than a second.
Why the fuck am I being so nice to this girl again?
Oh, yeah. My dad.
His problems are my problems. At least, that’s what he likes to say. When he first mentioned the idea to me of Katrina and I getting together, and his need for me to keep her happy, I was okay with it. Anything is better than getting your hands dirty for a dirty cause. But even I have my limits.
Add in everything with Brielle—the little blonde angel who’s not so little anymore—and now a month and a half seems like more work than it’s worth. It’s my fault though. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get too close to Brielle. But damn me to hell if I didn’t enjoy the way her body felt against mine. I mean, it can never happen again, but I enjoyed it.
Katrina hops up onto the passenger seat. Her eyes are still glued to her phone. I shut the door, and silently yell, “you're fucking welcome,” as I walk around the hood. Jesus. I'm still on edge. If I didn't have a bruised rib, I'd go back in, but it’s already half past one, and I need to get Katrina home.
I pull into her parent's driveway half an hour later and kill the engine. I sit for few minutes listening to Katrina's nails typing away as the engine crackles in the background. I look up at the dash and see the clock reads two o’clock on the dot.
Closing my eyes, I rest my head back on the seat. I wonder if Brielle is home right now. Or if Luca is staying over at her place tonight. I inhale a deep breath and squeeze the steering wheel. The leather tightens under my grip. I’d like to think that Brielle might still be a virgin—that she might have waited, but seeing how protective Luca is, I doubt that it’s all in the name of friendship.
I look over at Katrina, but she isn't paying attention. Fuck, this girl is annoying. She's still on her damn phone! "Put that shit away, or I'll toss it out the window," I growl.
Her slender fingers peel back from her phone. "Okay. What's bugging you?"
"You are. You and that phone."
"Oh yeah?" She turns toward me then and pushes her phone into her bag. Her lips part as she leans into me. Her hand moves down to press against the zipper on my jeans. "Want me to make it up to you?"
I brush her off.
"No thanks. Not tonight."
All I can think about is a pair of damn green eyes, and the look on Brielle’s face when I made the comment about kissing her. Yeah, well, you’ve said a lot of things before, she had said. She isn’t wrong. Before Mason died, I said a lot to her. Promised a lot. But after what happened with . . . things got ugly fast.
Katrina’s expression twists into a look of disdain. "What? What did you just say?"
"I said I'm good."
"What the fuck is your problem today, Theo?" She yells at the top of her lungs. “You’re acting crazy.”
"Nothing’s wrong," I lie. An image of Brielle pricks at the back of my mind, but I will it away. Luca. She’s with Luca. I feel the need to remind myself.
She grips the door handle but pauses before opening it. "Don't you like me?"
No!
"Yes."
At the sound of that, she climbs over the console and sits on my lap. I'd roll my eyes and tell her to get off, but really, what choice do I have? Apparently, I still have to worm her into coming to the ball with me, and I can’t very well do that if she’s pissed. This is the job.
"Then fuck me, Theo!” she yells—her eyes wild and needy. "Or I'll just have to find someone else who can."
I wrinkle my nose up at her. Is this girl for real right now? She actually just told me to fuck her or she's going to find someone else? I’d rather risk a night with Devon.
I watch her hands trail the line of my zipper until she works it down and takes hold of me in her hand. I hesitate for a moment, not sure what I expect to feel, as she strokes the length of me. I look up at her.
"You like that, baby?" she asks, while leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on my neck. I close my eyes. Jesus. I’m hating this. More so because it’s Katrina. But also because this girl has no idea what I like. She's all over the place, and it doesn’t help that my mind is too. "Theo?"
I don't answer because I know I won't be able to lie right now. Instead, I grab the seat lever and pull it. The seat immediately reclines, as I wrap my arm around her waist and flip her under me. I know I’m going to have to take charge if I stand any chance of getting through this. "Stop. Talking."
I lower my head and allow her to kiss me as I listen to her moan my name. My pants hit the floor, and I feel her hands on me again. “Yes, kiss me,” she groans against my lips.
“I told you to stop talking.” I shake my head. This girl seriously isn't helping me get in the mood.
Make sure to tell her she's pretty. Brielle's words flash in my mind, and I pinch my eyes shut. The image of her standing there, smug-faced and disgusted with me, ignites something under my skin. I shake my head to clear the memory but it’s no use.
"What the hell’s wrong with you?" Katrina barks.
Her hands grip me harder. I wince and pull back to the side. What the hell is she pouting for? It’s my dick she’s choking!
"Nothing," I say, feeling the anger seep out of my words, as my manhood is brought into question. The simple fact that Brielle is able to mess with my head, even when she’s not here, pisses me off even more than Katrina’s judgmental glares.
"Then what's taking so long? Do you need me to—"
"Just give me a second."
Jesus, she’s fucking annoying. I try to focus as I let my mind drift off to a distant memory. The need to salvage my time with Katrina wins out over my pride. I sigh and give in to the memories that I store behind a wall. I grab Katrina’s hips but imagine that they’re hers.
"Oh, there you are." Katrina squirms. Her hand, folds over me as she works my length from top to bottom. I take in a breath and reach for one of the condoms I keep in my console for emergency type situations, such as this one. I grab it and slip it on. If I’m going to get through this, then I have to focus.
I lean back while she undresses and then spread her legs with my knee. "Let's make this quick," I say, and she nods her head.
With one last glance at her house, I thrust into her—my min
d a jumble mix of blurred lines as I desperately try to hold on to the memory. But with every moan Katrina makes, she threatens to kill the moment.
Fuck. I groan into her neck and pick up the pace.
Each minute that ticks by, passes like an eternity. And when I finally finish, it feels like a small victory. I check the dash. Two thirty-one. Jesus. Thirty minutes have never felt so long.
I give her a minute to recover before I open the door and wave her ass out.
“God, you’re such a dick.” She stumbles, adjusting her bra straps. I toss her bag to her and fall into my seat. “You’re lucky I love it.”
Yeah. Lucky.
chapter twelve
BRIELLE
I stand awkwardly, shifting back and forth within the same small section of tile at Café Maria's, and cut my eyes over to Becks. Wearing an all-black, zip-up hoodie, and short black shorts, her fingers dance across her phone's massive screen.
Apparently, hanging out at a local café was Becks’s idea of flying under the radar. She found out this morning that Derrick’s girlfriend did find that heel. And yes, she’s pissed about it.
"Um, I have a Grande Peppermint Mochaccino for a . . . Brielle?" the barista calls.
"That's me," I say aloud as I quickly step up and reach for my cup. "Thank you!"
I walk back over to Becks, who’s still in line waiting, before I leave to snag us a table against the back window. It’s been two weeks since our night at Knock Out, and honestly, I’ve needed the time away to clear my head. With everything coming up this weekend, I can’t afford to let myself get caught up in the “what if’s” our little moment outside might have meant. Why Theo asked to kiss me. And why I wanted him to.
I take a seat and toss my bag in the extra chair for Luca. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it out of his exam in time to meet us. But I’d rather have it just in case. I lift my cup. The heat radiating off of it is scalding as I press my lips to the plastic lid and blow slowly. I definitely am not trying to burn off all of my taste buds within the first sip.
With You: With you, I am who I want to be. Page 9