6. Fuck You
Fuck You
Someone shoved past me with a drink sloshing over the rim, then decided to stop and chat.
I ignored him as best I could, trying to get to the person I came to this party for.
Jon. Even from across the room, I was aware of him.
It was impossible not to be. He was standing near the kitchen doorway, watching me.
Always looking, never touching. But just because he stayed back didn’t mean he wasn’t involved. No, he was very fucking involved.
Looking after his best friend’s little brother was what he called it.
Wanting me for himself and refusing to admit it was what I called it.
A silent warning flashed on his face as he stared down the guy who was talking to me. The guy backed off so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.
I rolled my eyes. Jon acted like nobody was allowed to breathe near me without his approval.
Not only that, he also scared off every potential hookup.
Not that I wanted to hook up with anyone who wasn’t Jon, but if he wanted me for himself, he should act on it and not traumatize innocent party people.
Anyway, I was done being managed from a distance.
I walked toward him, my heart hammering. He watched me approach, his gaze slowly tracking my hips.
Good. Let him look. Let him choke on it.
The closer I got, the more space opened up around him—as people knew better than to get in his way.
I stopped inches from him. He didn’t even blink.
“Having fun?” Jon asked, his voice unfairly, deliciously low.
I smiled. I cast an affectionate look over my shoulder at Liam who was standing in the corner, pretending he didn’t see us. He was just a guy I’d been flirting with earlier until he’d noticed Jon and made some flimsy excuse to stop talking to me.
“You bet,” I said anyway with a dreamy little sigh. “Liam’s amazing.”
Jon’s jaw clenched. His obvious annoyance gave me a sudden surge of courage.
I trailed my finger across his chest and let it stay. “You look angry. Are you jealous?”
His expression revealed nothing, but he’d always had a terrifyingly good poker face.
“No.”
He peeled my hand off his chest like it didn’t belong there.
I bristled. “Right.”
Tilting my head, I stepped even closer until his scent began to make my head swim. What I felt for Jon was more than attraction—it was a primal need written into my core. I needed him to acknowledge it and stop avoiding the inevitable.
“You’re just watching me like that for fun, is that it?”
“I’m making sure you don’t do something stupid.”
I leaned in, invading his personal space until I felt the steady thud of his heart. A time would come when I’d fall asleep with my head on his chest. His heartbeat would lull me to sleep and he would watch over me, just like he was doing now.
“You know me,” I murmured. “I’d never do anything stupid.”
His mouth tugged. Okay, fair. I’d done something stupid once or twice in my life. Feeling reckless and brave, I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his chest. I inhaled. Warm. Clean. Him.
Mine, if he would just admit it.
“Cooper.”
“Jon.”
I rose up onto my toes next, my lips hovering just shy of his. My heart thudded so hard he had to hear it. I didn’t rush it—I didn’t dare. I was taking this further than before, but I was ready. So damn ready.
“What are you doing?” Jon’s tone had changed. Suddenly, I felt small compared to the sheer, broad-shouldered reality of him. His presence made my knees feel weak. Three years I’d spent on wobbly legs because of him.
“If you really want to know,” I said casually, pretending my entire heart wasn’t on the line. “I’m trying to kiss you.”
Well, that got me his attention, just not in the way I’d hoped.
“You’re drunk,” Jon said, but he didn’t pull away.
I scoffed. “I’ve had, like, two beers.”
“That’s two too many.”
“Shut up. That’s not nearly enough to impair my judgment.”
His focus snagged on my mouth and stayed there.
I could feel the hunger in him—it thrilled me in the best possible way.
My fingers toyed with the hem of his black T-shirt.
I tugged, just a little. Just to test him.
I wanted to slip my hands underneath, to feel the heat of his skin and the hard ridges of his stomach.
I’d never touched him like that, but I wanted to.
So badly. I wanted to touch him until we both forgot how to breathe.
I’d let him do everything to me. Whatever he wanted, I’d give him.
I’d thank him and then I’d ask for more. Over and over and over.
“Could you just kiss me already?” I whispered.
His hands snapped to my waist, his fingers digging into my hips with more force than before.
He didn’t push me away, but he didn’t pull me closer either.
He was holding me exactly where he wanted.
And he was still watching my mouth. For a second—a long, suspended, agonizingly hot second—he leaned in.
I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips.
I could smell the faint scent of mint and cigarettes, but also something darker.
His grip tightened, and my breath caught.
This was it. We were really going to kiss. I tilted in that last inch. Almost—
Jon jerked back as if he’d been burned, his face snapping back into indifference.
“No.”
He let go of my waist, and the rejection hit so hard I actually stumbled back. I blinked away the tears, trying to find solid ground again.
“You’re drunk,” he added roughly.
I shook my head, my face burning with humiliation.
“I’m not. You’re a coward.”
“I’m taking you home.”
“You’re not. I’m staying.” I turned my head, tears blurring my vision. Why couldn’t he admit we were meant to be together?
“You’re not staying,” he said bluntly.
I poked his chest, feeling the solid, unyielding muscle beneath the fabric. “You’re not my boss. Besides, I came here with Bianca. I can’t leave her.”
“She looks busy.”
I glanced at Bianca who was on the couch with her girlfriend.
“Look at that,” I said. “Two people who fancy each other are kissing.”
Jon ignored my witty remark.
“Get in the car.”
“Make me.”
Without saying another word, he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder. I was so stunned I didn’t even fight him. People were staring, some of them snickering, even cat-calling, as Jon marched toward the door.
Outside, he stopped. “Do I have to shove you in the car?”
“Let me down.”
“Answer me.”
Cheeks burning, I tried to wiggle my way down, but he didn’t let me go until I promised to get in. Then he dumped me on the ground as unceremoniously as he’d picked me up.
Sulking, I got in the car and put on my seatbelt.
“Why did you do that?” I asked after we’d been driving five minutes in tense silence.
“You said make me.”
“Not that,” I snarled. “Before. Why did you stop?”
“Can’t stop something I never started.” His voice was flat and completely devoid of that raw tension from the party.
I whipped around in my seat. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
He didn’t even look at me. “You would’ve regretted it.”
Where did he get off acting as if he knew me better than I knew myself? Like my wanting him was some juvenile phase, not the reality I’d lived in for three years.
“Stop making decisions for me. I’m not a child! I’m eighteen.”
“I know how old you are. Your age is not the point.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighed.
“I’m not doing this with you now.”
“Of course not,” I said icily, leaning back in the seat. “Far be it from you to admit having feelings.”
“There’s nothing to admit,” he said, the words coming out so smoothly I seethed. He was impossible. I’d seen the way he looked at me.
“Really? So why was your glare burning holes into Liam earlier?”
“It’s my resting bitch face.”
My exhale could’ve moved a mountain. Or at least a dust mote.
“You wanted to kiss me,” I said quietly. I was embarrassed at how vulnerable I sounded. “You know that. I know that. Everybody knows that.”
“Coop—”
“You. Wanted. To.” I almost spat the words, needing them to be true, needing to believe I hadn’t imagined the way his heart had thundered against mine. I’d lose my mind if I were the only one feeling this.
The silence stretched, and then he cut me to the core.
“I know you want to believe that.”
That hurt so fucking much. Like I was some kid with a stupid crush, and all of this lived only in my head. He was making it—us—sound like a pathetic fantasy.
“Fuck you.”
I turned my head toward the window, the glass cold against my forehead, before he could see my face. Before he could see the hot, humiliating tears welling up.
I hated the way he could make me feel everything, while he sat there pretending he felt nothing. And the worst part? If he’d pulled the car over right then and kissed me, I would’ve forgiven it all.