Levi
Thirty
Ijump to my feet, unseating Layla, who falls to the floor in a rumpled heap and glares up at me, but I barely register it. I am too infuriated to give a shit right now.
“I told you not to touch me,” I bark before stalking off towards the bathrooms at the back of the bar.
Once inside, I splash some cool water on my face before bracing my hands on the sink as I stare at my reflection in the dirty mirror.
Exhaustion laces every single one of my features, making my eyes appear so dark they almost look black in the dim light. I take a deep breath and then another.
I shouldn’t have reacted so harshly, but feeling the press of a body that isn’t Oakley’s made me react before I could make a conscious decision. All I knew was that it wasn’t her. Chalk it up to a knee-jerk reaction.
I’ll still have to apologize to Layla, though I doubt with the way I just embarrassed her she’ll be game to listen to me tonight.
It’s fine. I’m not particularly in the apologizing mood.
Best to let things cool down before I attempt that.
All I want to do is get through the rest of Oakley’s shift until the bar closes, and I can go home and go to bed.
I must be in the bathroom for longer than I realize because when I finally emerge, the bar has cleared out significantly.
There are still a few lingering groups here and there, nursing their final drinks in a feeble attempt to keep the party going.
A few minutes later, the DJ cuts the music and the lights flip on.
The remaining patrons groan their protest before finding their way to the door and exiting onto the street, a few of them lingering at the bar to settle their tabs.
I head back to the corner booth where Isaac, Brandon, Justin, and Jessie all wait for me.
“Sorry, guys, I-I told her not to touch me.”
“Maybe now she’ll stop drooling all over you every time you walk into a room. I didn’t want to be mean, but I don’t know why she stayed over here after dropping off my drink,” Jessie says.
“Yeah, man, I wouldn’t sweat it. She’ll get over it,” Isaac agrees.
“Or she won’t,” Brandon adds, and both Isaac and Jessie shoot him a look that has him raising his hands in surrender.
“We’re gonna head out though. Are you coming?” Justin asks. Thankfully, he’s sobered up a bit from earlier in the night, a feat that is no doubt thanks to Jessie’s arrival. Still, I doubt he’s okay to drive.
“I’m gonna stick around for a bit longer,” I say, not bothering to explain why. They already know, though. Thankfully, they’re either too tired or too drunk to tease me about it. “You’re not driving,” I add, looking at Justin, who nods in agreement.
“I’ve got him. We’ll grab his truck in the morning,” Brandon assures me.
We say our goodbyes, and I watch my friends walk out the front door, Justin stumbling along between them, his hand on the small of Jessie’s back.
She hesitates for a moment, letting his hand linger there before shrugging away from his touch.
I don’t know much about their history, only bits and pieces from what Jessie’s told me, but to this day, they’re still a tangled mess of open wounds that never healed properly.
Turning back to the table, I gather the empty bottles and glasses and walk to the bar, placing them on the counter in front of the sink.
Layla is nowhere to be seen, and I’m guessing she’s either taking a conveniently timed smoke break, or she’s left for the night.
Oakley doesn’t say a word to me, doesn’t even look at me as she continues her cleanup routine.
It’s a little odd, but I’m sure she’s tired from a long night.
Over the next forty-five minutes, I busy myself clearing tables and picking bottles and cups up off the floor, before grabbing a mop to clean the sticky floors.
Typically, I’d have already said my goodbyes by now and would be waiting in my truck until Oakley safely reaches her car, but with Layla AWOL and Cliff off for the night, I don’t want to leave her in here by herself.
She continues to ignore me, not sparing me a glance and seemingly lost in thought, but there’s an edge of…
something else about her tonight that I can’t put my finger on.
When the floors are as clean as they’re going to get, I round the bar, grab a clean rag, and start drying and putting away glasses as Oakley washes them.
We work in silence, and I’m content with leaving her to her thoughts, but whatever feels off between us keeps niggling at my brain.
Tension hangs heavy in the air between us, thick enough to slice me deep at the discomfort it causes.
Apprehension grips me by the throat as I wonder if he contacted her again.
I’m just about to ask her when she interrupts me.
“Go home, Levi.” Her voice is icy and still she doesn’t look at me.
I stare at her profile, puzzled.
“I can stay a little longer and help you clean up,” I offer.
“I’m fine. Go home.” Her insistence cuts me like a knife, and now I’m starting to worry that something’s happened.
“It’s not safe. You know that,” I reply as gently as I can, though indignation ripples through me at her stubbornness.
“Don’t fucking patronize me, Levi. I said I’m fine.”
I huff out an annoyed breath, tossing the rag down on the counter before stalking around the bar and pulling my truck keys from the front pocket of my jeans. “Fine. I’ll see you at home.”
“Don’t wait up.”
So she’s picking a fight. Alright, we can go there, but I’m not sure she’ll like what I have to say when we do.
I saw the way that guy looked at her tonight, the one that slipped her the hundred thinking he was sly and no one would notice.
But I did. I’ve grown so attuned to her every move that it was impossible not to.
It’s not the fact that he was so obviously appreciating her appearance, or even the way he winked at her before he left.
Truthfully, it was the green monster of jealousy coming out of me in the way she seemed to look at him like there could be the possibility of something there.
Listen, I’m not proud, and I’m certainly not trying to control where she goes or who she talks to, but I would be lying to myself if I said my jealousy was out of anything besides the fact that I’ve already claimed her for myself, whether she knows it or not.
We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for the past few weeks, and I’ve fucking had enough.
The thought of going one more minute without her knowing I want her has me balling my fists as I push through the front doors.
Stalking over to my truck, I climb in and slam the door behind me. In the quiet of the cab, I mull over my options.
One: go back in there and demand she talk to me.
Two: wait until tomorrow, when she’s had enough time to calm down, and have a rational, adult conversation with her.
Three: screw both of those options and say something to her that will lead to her lips on mine and me showing her exactly how much I don’t want to resist her anymore.
I let out a growl, running both hands through my hair, causing the strands to stand on end in a way that I’m sure makes me look like I’m pulling my hair out.
I practically am at this point, all of the pent-up tension and sexual frustration of wanting what I can’t fucking have threatening to boil over.
None of those options work, and I damn well know it.
Oakley has me by the balls, and she has no idea.
It isn’t until a flash of gold from across the lot catches my attention that I start up my truck.
As soon as she reaches her car and climbs inside, I peel out of the driveway and gun it down the backroads that will lead me home.
I have to get her out from under my skin.
She unwittingly crawled beneath it and made herself at home.
But no amount of fucking my fist in the shower to the memory of the way her eyes looked under that waterfall can erase the desire coursing a warpath through my veins.
I press the gas pedal down harder as I speed towards home, my cock growing hard to the point of pain in my jeans, but still, the memories don’t stop.
Her pupils blown wide, impossibly smooth skin supple under my touch, nipples taut, lips parted.
I groan and fist my cock over my jeans as I race down the road, grunting at the shot of pure fucking pleasure the touch grants me.
I squeeze again, and I can almost feel the whisper of her breath across my lips, the memory dragging me under.
Before I know it, I’m slamming hard on the brakes, the tires squealing to a halt just in time to narrowly avoid the massive black bear ambling across the road. It blinks at me in the headlights, judging me from where I sit with my palm still cupping my crotch.
“Yeah, I’m judging me, too,” I grumble, yanking my hand away from my lap, the issue down there now significantly less urgent than it was a moment ago.
The bear continues on its way, its fuzzy black behind disappearing between the thick tree trunks.
My heart still racing, I hastily check to the side, making sure there are no cubs waiting to run out and give me another heart attack, before finally letting my foot off the brake and continuing on my way.
The pounding in my chest calms a fraction as I draw nearer to home, but with every slowing beat of my heart, the pull of those haunted eyes beckon me in again.