Chapter 8
Eight
The party at my house is in full swing. I’m surrounded by friends, a flowing keg, and loud music.
I’m doing my damnedest to comprehend whatever the woman before me is saying, but my gaze flickers to Jacqui of its own volition…
again. Worse, nearly every time it does, I find her staring at me.
And goddamn, I wish she’d stop looking at me like I’m all she wants.
I can’t even remember this chick’s name, but she’s trapped me in this conversation for way longer than I’d like. And those stares from the girl I’m trying hard to resist aren’t helping. Even more justification to stay planted here and continue listening…even though I’m not. Which is fucking rude.
I’ve pounded the beers tonight—and I’m ignoring the reason. The room spins, and I reach for the wall and plant my hand there.
Movement on the deck snags my attention.
Remy and Karin are getting into it. I can make out Karin’s angry expression and Remy’s placating one.
Christ. These two and their bullshit. My hand swipes across my jaw as I monitor their fight, tuning out the girl in front of me.
She’s not bad looking, and her jeans are painted on what’s probably a hot body, but I can’t muster the interest. And if anyone could use a solid night of fucking—something to take the edge off this infatuation with Jacqui I’ve got going on—it’s me.
Karin storms inside and her friends scramble to follow her exit, including the one talking to me and vying to spend the night (not happening).
“Assholes!” the she-devil screams, branding me with a spiteful glare before leading her entourage out the door with all her dramatics.
A relieved laugh escapes as I cuff the back of my neck. On unsteady legs, I weave to the kitchen and open the fridge. Should I have another? Probably not, but fuck it. Twisting the top off a fresh beer, I take a long swallow.
Rounding the corner, Jacqui and Remy fill my direct sight line, talking outside on the deck. They’re standing close. Too close. Why are they standing so close?
Is he…?
Motherfucker. What’s it been? Five minutes since his girlfriend left and he’s pulling this shit?
I don’t think, just accelerate, vitriol burning a hole through my chest as I barrel through the sliding doors, grab Jacqui, and haul her behind me.
“Not her.” The menace in my voice rings clear.
“What the fuck, man?” Remy scowls.
“Keep your goddamned hands off her.”
His eyes narrow. “What’s it to you? Not like you’re going to make a move.”
That sear in my chest cavity deepens, igniting to a full blaze. “Just fucking leave her alone,” I grit out.
“You’re being a dick.”
“And you’re only thinking with yours.”
A split second later, I lunge at Remy, spinning him toward the house and into the wall. My forearm braces against his throat, satisfaction coating me when he struggles to swallow. He breaks away and throws a right hook into my side. It barely registers. All I see is red. Blistering red.
Our fists fly as we trade blows across the redwood decking. Jacqui screams, pleading for us to stop, but I don’t quit, anger obliterating rationality as it thrums through my veins.
We topple to the ground, still getting in shots. Pain scarcely penetrates from the ones that land, glance, or deflect.
Terry appears, pulling me off Remy, my flailing arms cutting futilely through air. It only pisses me off more. Jeremy presses a knee into Remy’s torso. I shoot murderous glares at my best friend while bucking against Terry’s grip.
“Drunken idiots,” Terry mutters.
My dark gaze stays glued on Remy, adrenaline still rocketing through my system. “Let me fucking go.”
Remy shakes his head as if he’s not guilty of a damn thing.
“Time to kiss and make up, girls,” Jeremy says, hauling Remy to his feet as Terry releases me.
He promptly flings his hands in the air, his blue eyes like flint. “What the fuck was that all about?”
“Nothing,” I mutter as we continue exchanging hard stares.
He breaks our stalemate. “Whatever, dickhead. We good?”
Nope. But even I’m cognizant this is stupid. “Yeah, man.”
He strides past me into the house and Terry and Jeremy follow, leaving Jacqui and me alone. She inches toward me haltingly, eyes wide.
I start to lift my hand to push the hair out of my eyes and wince. My knuckles are shredded and smeared with blood. A rueful sigh escapes. I’m embarrassed. Chagrined. Wondering what the hell is wrong with me.
“You’re hurt, Mick,” she says, her tone warm and so fucking kind. “Let me help you.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, averting my gaze.
“Let me help you anyway.”
I shrug.
“Where’s the first aid?”
“Hall closet.” I head inside, losing my balance and crashing into a row of plants, then land hard against the wall. Fuck me. This whole night has turned into a goddamned shitshow.
Jacqui guides me to the living room sofa—and I acquiesce, trying not to admit how good her hand feels on me, her touch, her attention. Falling into the cushions, I close my eyes, and it’s the last thing I remember.