Aubrey
From across the room, I watch Melanie James drag her hand down Trent’s arm for the third time in fifteen minutes. My blood boiling at the sight.
“Careful, you’re going to break that glass in your hand if you’re not careful,” Liv says, her voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts.
“I actually think I might rip off her arm and hit her with it in a minute,” I mutter, my eyes glued to Mel.
We were supposed to all be sitting together, but the moment I saw Mel’s hands on him, I quickly asked Liv if we could sit by ourselves.
I needed a moment to gather myself. I wasn’t sure how I’d react—given that I know Mel and Trent have a history, and that Trent and I are still a secret—losing it here would be way too suspicious.
“You know Trent isn’t going to entertain whatever she’s doing,” Liv says, nudging me lightly with her elbow.
“He hasn’t exactly asked her to stop touching him, though, has he?” I snap, my eyes still burning holes through Mel.
Liv sighs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Shall we go over there? Might make you feel better being near him.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need a closer view of some ex of Trent’s all over him. It’s annoying enough seeing it from all the way over here.”
“I think you’re overreacting a little,” Liv says, leaning back in her chair. “He doesn’t look comfortable sitting next to her, and if you were paying attention to him instead of her, you’d notice how often he keeps glancing this way.”
I bite my lip, finally allowing myself to glance at Trent. Sure enough, his eyes flicker toward me once, twice, and then he goes back to trying to maintain a neutral expression. My chest tightens, and I force my shoulders to relax.
I take a slow breath and force my gaze back to the table in front of me, but my attention keeps drifting no matter how hard I try to reel it in.
I watch as Mel laughs at something Trent says—too loudly, too eagerly—and leans closer, her hand brushing his arm again like she has every right to touch him.
My stomach twists. Unable to watch another second, I shift in my seat and turn my chair so my back is facing them.
“Talk to me about something,” I mutter, lifting my glass with a shaky hand and taking a big gulp of the cocktail Grayson made us.
The alcohol burns pleasantly, but it doesn’t do much to settle the nerves buzzing beneath my skin.
“Uh…” Liv blinks at me, clearly thrown by my abrupt request, then recovers with a small smile. “Did I tell you that Ivy is coming to visit?”
“Oh my goodness, no, you didn’t!” I turn toward her fully, grateful for the distraction. “I haven’t seen her in years. When is she getting here?”
“In a couple of weeks,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice warms with excitement. “Only for a few days, but I’m really excited to see her. It feels like it’s been ages, and obviously I won’t visit her considering she still lives in the same town my parents live in.”
I nod, my expression softening. “Makes sense.” I swirl what’s left of my drink, the ice clinking against the glass.
Me and Ivy met at college and became inseparable practically overnight. Honestly, Liv wouldn’t even be in Mayridge if it weren’t for Ivy nudging her here. I haven’t properly seen her since graduation, so catching up would be—well, long overdue.
A sharp, high-pitched burst of laughter erupts behind me—Mel’s unmistakable laugh.
Instant irritation prickles up my spine. My shoulders tensing before I can stop them.
I slowly turn around, unable to ignore the prickle racing up my spine. Trent’s whole table is laughing—loud, carefree, oblivious. Even he’s smiling, head tipped back, the dim light catching the curve of his jaw.
But none of that is what I notice first.
It’s Mel.
More specifically—Mel’s hand.
The one she’s slid onto Trent’s thigh under the table, her fingers resting there like she has any right.
Fury slams into me so fast it knocks the breath from my chest. How fucking dare Trent let her touch him like that.
I push back my chair abruptly, the legs scraping across the floor. My body moves before my head can catch up. Every instinct screams at me to march over there and rip her hand off him, to ask why he isn’t stopping her, to tell her exactly where she can shove that fake smile of hers.
But my heart—my stupid, loyal, trusting heart—whispers a quieter truth.
He wouldn’t entertain this. Not on purpose. I know how he feels about me. I trust him.
Still… it’s hard to listen to reason when Mel’s hand is still on his goddamn leg.
“I’m getting another drink,” I call out to Liv, my voice tighter than I intend. I turn away before she can ask questions.
I walk toward the bar, the thump in my chest matching the beat of the music. I refuse to glance back at their table, but I can feel it—heavy, unmistakable.
Trent’s gaze.
On me.
Following me all the way across the room.
When I reach the bar, I catch Grayson’s eye—Mayridge’s resident flirt, troublemaker, and self-declared heartthrob. He spots me instantly and flashes a slow, practiced smirk before sauntering my way.
“Couldn’t stay away, I see,” he drawls.
I arch a brow. “Kind of hard to do that when you’re hoarding all the alcohol.”
“Excuses, excuses, Aubrey Jenkins,” he teases with a low chuckle. He braces his elbows on the bar, leaning in just enough to make the eye contact feel intentional—too intentional. It sends a ripple of discomfort through me, but I keep my expression neutral.
“Two shots of tequila and a whiskey sour, please,” I say.
“Coming right up.” He winks before turning to make the drinks.
I watch him pour, the smell of lime and liquor drifting toward me. When he returns, he sets the shots down in front of me with a flourish, as if he’s handing over something far more exciting than tequila.
I slide him the money and, without hesitation, knock back the first shot. The burn hits hard, but it’s exactly what I need. I take the second just as fast.
“Whoa—someone’s in a partying mood,” Grayson says as I slam the second shot glass down.
“Just taking the edge off,” I mutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Oh, you should definitely let me help with that,” he smirks, leaning closer.
“I’m good, but thanks for the offer,” I knock back the second shot, cutting him off before he can push his luck any further, grab my whiskey sour and turn away.
I head back toward Liv, keeping my gaze firmly away from Trent’s table—but my hips, well… they’re putting on the performance of their life. Every sway is deliberate, slow, confident.
If Trent’s eyes are on me—and I know they are—I hope he’s enjoying the view.