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Then they're not.
"What the fuck, bro?" Not-Walker scoffs. "I'm dancing here."
"You're done."
What?
I blink a few times.
That's… he's here.
God, he looks good. As miserable as I feel, but good. Same dark hair. Same dark eyes. Same strong shoulders.
He slides his arm around my waist.
I stare up at him. "What are you doing?"
"You want him touching you?"
No. But that isn't relevant. "I have a phone."
"I called three times."
That's possible. I can't exactly hear with eighties jams overpowering every thought in my head.
His fingers dig into my skin.
I struggle to inhale. "What is this?"
"You want me to stop?"
No. "What the hell do you think you're doing throwing guys off me?"
He holds my body against his. "I don't want anyone else touching you."
"You don't get a say in that."
"I know." He pulls me closer anyway.
Fuck, it feels good.
I let my eyelids flutter together. I soak up all the warmth of his touch. It feels right. For the first time since I climbed out of his bed, I feel whole.
His voice is soft. Sincere. "I can't stop thinking about you."
"You want me or you don’t, Walker. You can't have it both ways."
"I know." He steps backward. Takes my hand and motions to the edge of the dance floor.
What the hell does this mean?
I should demand an explanation.
But I don't. I follow him off the dance floor. All the way to the back entrance.
To a dark alley.
The door swings shut.
