Chapter 14 #2
"First," I say, jumping in, unable to stay silent any longer, the words tumbling out before I can stop them, "we aren't old, we're just older than you.
And second, music after around 2010 sucks.
" I take a swig of my beer, pleased to finally be part of the conversation, to have Skye's attention shift to me for once.
"You would say that, old man," Harper says, and everyone laughs, the sound warming the night air around us.
"Yeah, yeah," I say, shaking my head at her. "I don't know why the fuck you two are laughing. You're the same damn age as me," I point out, gesturing to Ethan and Logan with my beer.
"Nope, I'm younger than both of you," Logan says, smug as ever, the bastard.
"Shut up," both Ethan and I say at the same time, which makes Skye laugh. The sound draws my attention immediately—light and genuine, almost musical. I want to hear it again. I want to be the one to cause it.
"So how old are you guys?" Skye asks, looking around the table, her eyes lingering on each of us with curious interest.
"I'm a young thirty-six," Logan says, puffing out his chest like the peacock he is. She turns those eyes on me next, and I feel the weight of her attention like a physical touch, a caress that heats my skin from the inside out.
"I'm thirty-eight," I say, meeting her gaze steadily.
"Ssss," she says, covering her mouth with her hand, acting like it's ancient. Something about her playfulness makes me want to show her just how not-old I am, in ways that would wipe that teasing smile right off her face.
"Hey, don't do that. I'm older than him," Ethan complains, drawing her attention away from me again. I clench my jaw.
"Oh shit, how old are you, grandpa?" Skye asks, leaning toward him with those big eyes, the same ones that have been haunting me since the moment I saw her.
"Just for that, I'm not telling you," Ethan says, and she laughs again. I like seeing her smile. Her whole face lights up—she has a pretty smile, one that reaches her eyes and transforms her features into something that aches to look at, something I want to keep for myself.
"Grandpa's thirty-nine," Harper says, throwing Ethan under the bus with a mischievous grin.
"Snitch," Ethan tells her, but there's no heat in it.
"Hey, I for the record don't think you guys are old. Skye does," Harper says, deflecting blame with the practiced ease of a teenager.
"I was just joking and Harper started it! You guys aren't old," Skye says, her expression sincere, those damn eyes wide and earnest.
"At least I'm not," Logan says, and everyone laughs.
The rest of the night goes on about the same—catching up with Harper and everyone getting to know Skye. My friends get along well with her. Too fucking well, if you ask me. Every smile she gives them, every laugh at their jokes, feels like sandpaper against my nerves.
By the time we finish eating and clear the plates, I've watched Ethan touch her shoulder twice and Logan replace her beer without being asked.
Every casual contact makes my teeth clench, my possessive instinct flaring hotter each time, a primitive urge to mark territory I have no claim to.
I try to remind myself that I have no claim on her.
That she's Harper's friend. That she's too young.
None of it helps. The need to pull her away from them, to have her attention on me alone, grows stronger with each passing minute.
When she laughs at something Ethan says and places her hand on his arm, I nearly snap the bottle neck off my beer. I stand abruptly, the scrape of my chair against the patio stones making everyone look up, conversation halting mid-sentence.
"I think it's time to call it a night," I say, standing up straighter and running a hand through my hair. "It's getting late."
"Yeah, some of us are not off for summer," Ethan says, stretching his arms above his head with a pointed look at Harper and Skye.
I start grabbing plates, stacking them with practiced efficiency, then carry them into the kitchen.
Harper and Logan follow, helping to clear the table.
The familiar routine of post-dinner cleanup gives me something to focus on besides the way Skye's shirt rises when she reaches across the table, revealing a strip of smooth skin that makes my mouth water.
That glimpse of her—so innocent, so forbidden—is enough to send heat coursing through me, a dangerous reminder of how quickly I'm losing my grip.
When I return to grab the last of the dishes, I find Skye and Ethan picking up our trash, their heads bent close as they talk. Something about the sight of them together ignites a possessive fury within me, white-hot and completely irrational.
Skye walks inside with a handful of empties, her arm brushing against mine as she passes.
The contact is brief but electric, leaving a trail of heat searing across my skin like a brand.
I grab a couple of pans from the grill, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of her warmth that seems to burn through my clothes, through my carefully constructed walls.
"You good, man?" Ethan asks, the two of us suddenly alone on the patio, the night air doing nothing to cool my temper.
"Yeah," I say, not meeting his eyes, knowing he'll see right through me.
"You can't lie to me. We've been friends too long." He steps closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Is this about Skye?"
I'm at a loss for words, caught in a trap of my own making. I don't want to admit the truth, but I need them to back off. When I don't respond, he presses further, his knowing tone scraping against my already frayed nerves.
"I thought you canceled the auction shit. You said she's too young. But if you want her, I'll back off."
"I don't," I say, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue. "Because she's too young for any of us, and she's Harper's best friend, so she's off limits."
He chuckles, seeing right through my pathetic attempt at deception. "You're the only one who cares about the age difference. Plus, she's hot and cool as fuck. So if you aren't going to go for it, then I will."
"The fuck you will," I snap, stepping up to him, closing the distance between us in one aggressive stride. What the fuck am I doing? Am I actually about to fight my best friend over a nineteen-year-old girl that I cannot have? "Stay away from her."
Yeah, so apparently I am.
Ethan starts laughing, his shoulders shaking with genuine amusement. "Chill, Dom. I'm just fucking with you. Logan and I both were. We just wanted you to admit it."
"Admit what?" I ask, tension still coiled tight in my shoulders, ready to spring.
"That you want her. And the fact that you're all up in my face right now—which, by the way, you have never done—tells me we were right. You're fucked, bro." He laughs again, the sound grating on my already raw nerves.
I step back, dragging a hand down my face, feeling the rough stubble against my palm. "I am so fucked," I admit quietly, the confession hanging heavy in the night air. "I'm sorry."
"It's cool. And for what it's worth, she's a cool chick, and we're not going to judge you," he says, clapping me on the shoulder before walking back into the house.
I stand alone in the cooling night air, watching the stars emerge one by one, wondering when exactly I lost control of everything.