Chapter 11
ROMAN
I’m not jealous.
Why on earth would I be?
It’s not like Brielle is my type. Nor is she even a viable option for me if she were.
Whatever it is that’s got me so twisted up inside needs to shrivel up and die.
I can’t afford the distraction this season.
Playing around with Wesley’s little sister is the worst decision I could possibly make.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not bitter as hell about it.
The way I’m gripping my thighs tight enough to bruise just to keep myself from taking these stairs and tugging her free of Beckett’s hands is just as frustrating.
Brielle is an incredible dancer, even if she’s only swaying and bobbing to the music. There’s a natural fluidity to her that has kept my attention for the duration of the concert. I haven’t been able to look away without finding my eyes wrenched right back to her a moment later.
There’s something about her that’s got me in knots, too curious to back down when I should.
It’s her confidence, maybe. Or the fearlessness that sparks in her eyes every single time I tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.
Clearly, she isn’t used to taking orders, and that only intrigues me more.
I can’t help but wonder if the girl she is on camera is the same version of her that I’m witnessing right now, or if it’s just an expansion of herself, tucked away until she wants to expose it.
Does she wear this mask anytime she’s around others, or are the coy smiles and fuck-me eyes that I can’t seem to avoid or ignore genuine?
Her head turns my way, and I swallow, my jaw tight. She’s still got that flirty little grin on her face and her fingers laced through Beckett’s as they move together to the horrendous rock beat, but those teasing green eyes remain on me.
Watching. Digging too deep into places inside my mind that are off limits to her and everyone else here.
I tongue my cheek and arch a brow. Her smile grows, stretching so wide it pisses me off. It’s the look of victory, and that’s not going to work for me. Not when she’s done nothing but aggravate me all night.
Her lashes are dark and thick as they slowly lower and then lift. The tip of her pink tongue darts out and drags a line across her bottom lip. I lean forward, my hands gliding down to my spread knees.
Beck dips his head and brings his mouth to the tip of her ear before she’s tucking her lip between her teeth and bringing their hands to rest at the base of his neck.
Her heels give her a few inches of much-needed height for this move, but it’s still not enough.
She’s not tiny, but she’s small enough that she’d need more of a lift than that to reach my height.
There’s a moment of stillness that settles over me when she closes the already small gap between them and rubs her chest against his. The sparkling halter top rises high on her stomach, exposing the bare curve of her waist that Beckett’s hand is creeping toward and causing my fingers to curl—
Buzzing in my pocket distracts me before I can do something I’ll regret.
I drop my gaze and straighten to pull my phone free of my pants. Evie’s name on the screen pulls me from any other thought but her.
With a finger in my ear, I hop out of my chair and up the stairs. “Evie?”
“Hi, Uncle. I’m so sorry to interrupt your night. God, you never go out and do anything fun, and here I am, calling you the one time you do!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Promise you’re not going to yell?”
I stiffen, already searching the empty suite for where I put my jacket. “What happened, Evie?”
“Crap. Okay, I know you’re always reminding me to lock my car doors, but I swear I thought I did this time!”
With my leather jacket bunched in my fist, I spin out to face the arena and exhale an angry breath.
The bar table digs into my side when I search the crowd below me, finding Brielle instantly.
A thicker, more volatile frustration bleeds through me when I realize I’m going to be leaving without knowing what happens with her and Beckett.
Not that it matters.
Her wide eyes fly up to where I’m standing as if feeling the weight of my annoyance. She slows her dancing and twists her mouth before mouthing something to Beckett. I look away then, not wanting to see anything else.
“Did somebody hurt you?” I bite into the phone.
“No! No. It’s just . . . my car is gone. I can take a rideshare home, of course, but you know how I feel about those.”
“Where are you?”
“Mmm, you know that bar that’s always got the pink lights? It actually turns into a club at night! Did you know that?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose while sucking in a breath. “Pretty Little Pour?”
“That’s the one!”
“Just go back inside. I’m on my way there now.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. See you soon.”
I hang up and shrug my jacket on. The tight material still smells as strongly of leather as the day I bought it three years ago. With a longer inhale this time, I take the scent into my lungs before tucking my phone into the right pocket.
“I know that bar. I’ll come with and give you directions.”
Whipping around, I stumble a bit in surprise. Brielle’s already got her purse in her hand and an expectant gaze laser-pointed on me as she stands a few feet away, one hip cocked.
“I know how to use Google Maps.”
“Don’t argue. That was Evie, right? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“So, you’re going to my favourite bar for a different reason, then? Do you hate this music that much?”
“Brielle,” I warn lowly.
“Roman,” she echoes, voice ultra-sweet. “I happen to like Evie and would appreciate seeing for myself that she’s alright. If that’s not too much to ask of you.”
“You’ve only met her once.”
“That’s not entirely true. I’ve only spent one-on-one time with her once, but I’ve met her before then. You must have let her out of her gilded cage a few times that you don’t remember. It’s okay to forget things, given your old age.”
It takes everything in me not to growl like an animal. This woman is begging to be thrown over my knee, but somehow, I hold myself back. With both hands sliding deep into the pockets of my slacks, I pull my shoulders back.
“Let’s go.”
I don’t want to make sure she’s following before leaving the suite. My pace is quick, with each footfall pounding against the floor. Her heels click the floor behind me as she tries to keep up with me before I hear a low, angry grunt.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re actually an ass?”
“I have a congratulatory trophy in my office.”
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, by the way.”
I chuckle, low and rough. “Are you insulting my intelligence?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
The snarky tone of her voice has my dick hardening despite my best efforts to ignore her. My pace has slowed enough that she reaches my side and shoulders me with a roll of her eyes.
We’ve left the concert early enough that only a few people are out of their chairs when we descend the escalator. There’s a small line at both the bar and merch line, but nobody pays us any attention. I relax a bit when we go unnoticed.
“I didn’t take you for a leather jacket type of guy. If you tell me you drove a motorcycle here, I’m going to really start considering the possibility that you’ve had your body taken over by an alien,” she says, tugging boldly on my sleeve.
“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.”
She huffs a laugh. “Well, at least something makes sense tonight.”
“Are you enjoying annoying me, Brielle?”
“Is that what I’m doing?” she asks, grinning to herself when I steal a downward glance.
“Yes, and I’m going to assume you’ve ramped up your efforts to get back at me for earlier.”
“So, you think I’m petty, then? That’s pretty judgmental.”
My jaw sets while we pass through the security at the front of the arena. “I’m not judging you. I’m stating facts.”
“But they aren’t facts. They’re claims, if we’re being technical.”
The doors are so, so close. If only they were going to grant my freedom.
“And by the way, I don’t think I’ve actually earned your attitude. Are you being such a jerk because I hit on you?”
Without bothering to take a look around for wandering eyes, I spin, taking her with me.
Brielle’s back makes contact with the shadowed wall a beat before I’m taking her soft red hair in my fist and smashing my knuckles into the wall behind her head, bracing her.
Her eyes bulge for a half second before falling to half-mast. The soft, innocent little sound that escapes her jabs straight through my gut and turns to embers in my groin.
I lower my head, bringing our faces so close I can scent the champagne on her breath and spot the small, concealed beauty mark on the bridge of her nose.
“You don’t want to play this game with me, Brielle,” I rasp.
The fruity, spiced perfume she’s wearing wafts up into my nostrils as I stare at the pink flush rising up her throat. I inhale on instinct and swallow a desperate groan that tries to escape.
“What game?” she whispers, tipping her head back just enough that the tip of her nose grazes my chin.
“This. The one where I turn you down and you crank up your efforts. I meant what I said. You’re not my type.”
“You’re lying.”
“Allowing you to come with me wasn’t an invitation. This is about my niece. Nothing more.”
Her throat stretches around a slow swallow. “You didn’t allow me to do shit. If you hadn’t agreed to me joining you, I’d have found my own way there.”
“Who’s taking care of your brother tonight?”
She pushes her chin up higher. “He’s an adult.”
“And drunk. I assume from your single glass of champagne that you only took two sips from that you’re his driver for the night?”
“If this is your way of getting me to stay here, it’s not going to work,” she argues, stoking the fire burning through my stomach. “I’ll have one of the other guys drive him home.”
I drop a hand to the same bare curve of her waist that I saw earlier and give it a rough squeeze.
It’s careless and selfish, but I leave it there, her hot skin blistering my rough palm.
She doesn’t back away as I hold her, barely keeping my weakening grip on the thread of sense that’s keeping me this far away.
Her eyes flick between mine, more inviting than they should be.
“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing here,” I warn her, unable to hide the need clinging to every word.
“That’s what makes it fun.”
My fingers slide from her waist to her lower back, to the tattoo inked there. I glide my thumb over where I know it sits and feel my chest tighten with guilt. My stomach pinches before I release her, unable to shake the memories of everything I’ve seen on After Hours.
The moment I take two large steps back, it’s like I can breathe again. Her pouty lips are in an O shape as she stares at me, confusion washing away the desire I already ache for more of. I swipe a hand over my hair and down my mouth before clearing my throat.
She still hasn’t looked away.
“Let’s go,” I command, sharpening my voice to ice.
The slight flare of her nostrils does little to relax me. Her anger doesn’t fill me with anything but frustration.
“Fine,” she snips.
And then we’re leaving.