Chapter 11 You Like Trouble
Naomi.
She let the door swing shut behind her and moved fully into the cooler air, stopping a few feet away. Her eyes dragged over me the way they did on the track, assessing and dismissing, but here there was no coach to impress and no teammates to rein her in.
“I know what you are,” she said.
Everything inside me went still, my cat sharpening beside me. What did she know, and how much?
“Enlighten me,” I said, keeping my face carefully blank.
“You’re a stray.” She stepped closer, voice low and precise. “No pack. No history. No name that anyone recognizes. You show up out of nowhere and think you can just insert yourself into something that’s been decided for years.”
I relaxed a fraction. "A stray. That's creative."
“I’m serious.” She closed the remaining distance, close enough that I could see the specific quality of her anger, old and hot and not entirely about me.
“My father is the pack beta. It has been understood since we were children that Jackson and I would be mated. Our families arranged it before we could walk. It’s not a crush.
It’s a blood alliance. A future. And you are in the way of that future. ”
"If that's true, he's doing a terrible job of showing it," I said.
Naomi gave a laugh. "You think he's showing interest. I think he's being kind.
" She tilted her head. "Jackson collects strays.
He always has. He gives them attention until they mistake it for something more.
Then he moves on. And when he does, you'll have nothing.
No people. No place here. You'll just be the girl who passed through and thought she meant something. "
She smiled, small and cold. "I've watched him do it before."
I looked at her, weighing it. People who warned you away from something rarely did it for your benefit. The pieces settled into place. This wasn't about me. Not really.
"I'm sure you have," I said pleasantly. "Front row seat, every time." I met her eyes. "Must be a great view from there."
Something shifted in her expression before she smoothed it away.
"At least I have people who would notice if I disappeared," she said, smiling thinly. "You? You could vanish tomorrow and the only person who’d care is you. That’s the difference between someone who belongs and someone who’s just passing through."
"I'm alone because I choose to be," I said. "Not because no one would have me." I stepped into her space. "There's a difference between solitude and being disposable, Natasha. You might want to think about which one you're projecting."
Color rose in her face, sharp and fast. "It's Naomi, you bitch."
She lunged with both hands, going for my hair, which told me everything about how she fought.
I sidestepped and let her momentum carry her past me, then drove my elbow into her ribs as she went by. The sound she made was satisfying. She stumbled, caught herself on the porch railing, and turned back toward me with fury replacing whatever composure she had left.
She came again, faster and angrier this time. I caught her wrist, twisted hard, and spun her face-first into the porch wall. My forearm pressed across her shoulders while I locked her wrist behind her back, holding her cheek against the wood.
Naomi struggled. I increased the pressure by a fraction and she stopped moving.
I leaned close. “Put your hands on me again and I will not be this gentle. Nod if you understand.”
A long, furious beat passed before she gave a single humiliated nod.
I released her and stepped back, smoothing my dress with both hands. "Good talk."
Back inside, I cut straight through the hallway and into the kitchen. I grabbed the nearest bottle, poured two fingers of vodka into a cup, and threw it back in one go. The burn was clean and immediate.
Cassidy would find me. I wasn't in the mood to go looking for her.
I drifted back to the dance floor alone, letting the rhythm pull me in as the warmth from the drink softened the edges of the room.
Then something shifted in the air around me and I felt him before I saw him. My cat went from bored to alert in the space between one heartbeat and the next, but I kept dancing and pretended I hadn’t noticed.
A minute passed, maybe two.
Then he was behind me, close enough that I felt the heat of him at my back. His scent cut through everything else in the room, that sharp wild edge that belonged only to him. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. He gave me a moment, long enough to move away if I was going to.
I didn’t.
Jackson closed the distance, his hands finding my hips.
He fell into my rhythm with effortless precision, his body aligning with mine until there wasn't a breath of space between us.
I let myself lean back a fraction, enough to feel the heat and solid weight of him behind me.
The top of my head barely reached his mouth.
Every hard inch of him registered against my spine.
My cat stretched, thoroughly pleased.
We kept moving, and across the crowd I caught Naomi’s stare. She stood near the far wall, cup in hand, face locked somewhere between shock and pure hatred.
I held her gaze and smirked. Then I arched my back deliberately, pressing tighter against Jackson. My hands slid up to link behind his neck as he bent to meet me, his mouth hovering near the curve of my neck.
“You're playing a dangerous game tonight,” he murmured against my ear.
A shiver ran down my spine. "I'm not."
His hands tightened on my hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles through the fabric. “You sure about that?”
His breath ghosted over the side of my neck, close enough that the almost-touch became its own kind of torture. I could feel his hardness against my back, the heat of him pressing through my dress.
Naomi looked like she'd swallowed a lemon whole.
I arched a little farther, fitting myself against him. “Positive.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest, almost a growl. “You're doing that on purpose.” His grip shifted, one hand sliding lower on my hip, possessive. “But I'm not complaining.”
I tilted my head back slightly, my cheek brushing his jaw. "I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you don't."
His hands slid lower on my hips and stilled.
I knew he felt it, the slight rigidity under the fabric, the shape that had no business being there on a night out, the outline of the thigh holster sitting high against my skin.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move away either.
Then his hands slid back up to my waist and pulled me flush against him, mouth brushing my ear.
“I had a feeling you’d be trouble.”
I tilted my head back slightly. "I think you like trouble."
A beat of silence.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I do."
Across the room, Naomi turned sharply and stomped away, her shoulders tight, her jaw clenched. That was my cue.
I let my hands slip from behind Jackson's neck and stepped forward, easing out of his hold.
His hands lingered a second before they fell away.
I turned to face him, and the full force of him up close hit harder than I expected.
The dark shirt fit too well—sleeves shoved to his forearms, collar open just enough to show the line of his throat.
Heat sat in his eyes as he looked me over, gaze dragging from my face down the length of my dress and back up again.
I made the mistake of glancing down just once and found him hard. Visibly so. The fabric of his trousers did almost nothing to conceal it, and he was not remotely embarrassed about it.
I dragged my gaze back to his face and found him watching me with the faintest hint of a smile, like he'd caught me noticing.
"I'm going to find Cassidy," I said abruptly.
Something flickered across his expression. Not disappointment exactly, but close enough that I felt it.
“I think I saw her outside near the ping-pong tables,” he said.
I said nothing. I didn't trust what my face might do if I tried. I turned and slipped back into the crowd, his gaze following me until the dancers swallowed me whole.
The music crashed over me as I left him behind, the lights suddenly too bright, the air thick and stale. I scrubbed a hand over my face. Focus. Find Cassidy.
I pushed through the hallway and out onto the back patio. Cool night air hit my face. A cluster of people surrounded the ping-pong tables, cheering and groaning at every missed shot.
Cassidy stood at one end of the table, paddle raised like she was preparing for battle, her eyeliner smudged.
"Cass," I called.
She looked up, eyes bright and unfocused. “Harper! Watch this — I’m about to destroy him.”
She swung wildly. The ball sailed three feet wide and bounced off a guy’s shoulder. The table erupted in laughter.
I stepped closer. “You’re done.”
“Nooo,” she whined, dragging the word out. “I’m having the time of my life.”
"You're also about two minutes from face-planting."
Cassidy blinked at me, then at the table, then at the half-empty cup in her other hand. “I’m fine,” she declared, immediately stumbling sideways into a random guy who had to catch her by the shoulders.
“Sure you are,” I said, looping an arm around her waist and pulling her upright. “We’re going home.”
She pouted, but didn’t fight me much as I steered her away from the table. “But I was totally gonna win that last point,” she mumbled.
“Of course you were.”
We made it down the steps onto the lawn. Cassidy inhaled dramatically, then hiccupped again. I pulled out my phone and opened the rideshare app. No cars available.
I exhaled through my nose. Cassidy leaned heavily against me, rambling about how the moon looked like a tortilla.
The door behind us opened and Jackson stepped out, hands in his pockets, eyes sliding from me to Cassidy and back.
"You two heading out?" he asked.
Cassidy perked up instantly, swaying slightly. "Jackson." She pointed at him with great conviction. "I know you're in a cult."
He looked at her, then at me.
"Don't look at me," I said.
“A very pretty cult,” she added generously. “Do they breed you people or something?”
Jackson blinked. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“She’s very drunk,” I said.
“I can see that.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m sober. I can drive you both home.”
I hesitated. Cassidy sagged against my shoulder and muttered something about cult dental plans.
“Fine,” I said. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
He took her other arm, steadying her. She immediately informed him his aura was attractive — deep forest green, possibly teal.
“Thank you,” he said dryly.
“You’re welcome. The cult probably suppresses auras. You should leave.”
He caught my eye over her head. I looked away.
Cassidy folded into the back seat with her shoes in her lap and passed out against the window within seconds. Jackson held the passenger door open for me. I slid in and he shut it.
“She’s on Maple, above the bakery,” I said.
The drive was quiet. He drove the way he did everything: calm, no wasted movement.
“She does this often?” he asked.
“I’ve known her two weeks. No idea.”
“She seems like she does everything at full volume.”
I almost smiled. “She’s persistent.”
He glanced over. “You like her.”
I didn’t answer right away. “She’s not the worst.”
We dropped Cassidy off first. I got her upstairs, poured her a glass of water, rolled her onto her side, and left her snoring in her dress before heading back down. Jackson was leaning against the car when I came out.
“Okay?” he asked.
“She’ll be embarrassed tomorrow, but she’ll survive.”
He opened the passenger door for me again. The drive back to my place stayed quiet until we were halfway there.
“You going to tell me about the knife?”
“No.”
He nodded like he’d expected that. “Thigh holster was a nice touch for a party.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“For what?”
“Whatever needs preparing for.”
Jackson glanced at me before looking back at the road, the corner of his mouth curving. “Most people would’ve lied.”
“I wasn't trying to reassure you.”
“I noticed.”
We pulled up in front of the house a short while later. Neither of us moved right away.
“Thank you for the ride,” I said.
“Anytime.” I could tell he meant it.
I got out with my keys in hand and was almost at the door when he called my name.
“Harper.”
I turned.
He leaned across the console, window down. “I had a good night.”
I stood there in the dark for a beat.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
I went inside before either of us could ruin it. The house was silent. My cat purred the whole way up the stairs and I didn’t tell her to stop.