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I find Bishop and Saint instantly. My jaw tightens. I can’t fucking believe Tillie put her in that goddamn outfit. Saint looks little, but she has legs that go on forever, and those fucking slits? How is she still able to walk after last night?
I lift the bottle of scotch to my lips. Will have to fucking rectify that shit. I promised I wouldn’t double dip with her. I said I wouldn’t. I fucking couldn’t. I can’t be with her, and that’s what she deserves, and while we’re on the subject of what Saint deserves, it sure as fuck ain’t me. She needs the mundane husband, the kids, the white picket fence, and the prescription drug habit. But even as those thoughts enter my mind, my rage bubbles to the surface like hot lava, ready to burst. I could never allow her to have those things, and I fucking know it.
Another swig of whiskey.
And I’m too selfish to allow her to have them.
Another.
Before I can stop myself, I’m making my way toward her.
She’s mine.
I stop in front of them both, just as Saint brings her eyes to mine. “Oh, you’re in one piece now?” She doesn’t stumble or stutter, and I grab the drink from her, lifting it to my nose.
I look to Bishop, who smirks. Fucker has been feeding her non-alcoholic Cosmos.
Snickering, I hand her drink back. “Yeah. Always.” She is fucked. Not only has she got me, but now she has Bishop. She will be the most feared woman to ever grace our world. Fucking good.
Bishop’s focus zones onto someone over my shoulder, and I turn to see what he’s looking at. Or rather, who he is looking at.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “Tillie…” When I turn back to face Bishop, he has already disappeared. The sides of the tent have been rolled up now to offer a more ambient flow between inside and out. Tillie and Scarlet organized this shitfest. If it wasn’t for them, it would have just been a bonfire and the old generation complaining that we’re fucking shit up if we don’t spend at least five hundred large on it.
“Who is that?” Saint asks, breaking through my thoughts.
I wince when I shift my arm at an awkward angle. “That’s Tate. Madison’s ride or die, and Tillie’s ‘she should die’.” Saint rocks onto her other foot uncomfortably, her lips on her glass.
I snort. “You can’t fucking stand wearing those things. Take them off.”
Laughter and music spill out around us. Saint waves me off. “I’m fine.”
“When did you become so moody?” I tease, my mouth in a half-smile. Truth is, kind of like her like this. Finding the table behind me, I grab her waist and pull her into me, fucking finally, and she rests between my stretched legs. A big part of me wanted to see if she was going to fight it. Her tiny body relaxes against mine as she casually sips her drink.
I roll my eyes, taking the glass from her and putting it on the table I’m leaning on. “It has no alcohol in it.”
She reaches for it again, glaring at me over her slender shoulder. “I know.”
She turns back to face the crowd of people as Pop Smoke’s “Dior” plays loudly behind us. She mumbles, “Would it be so hard for people to believe that I actually don’t like alcohol?”
“You don’t?” My throat tightens, probably from the surge of shock. Every girl I know drinks, and if she doesn’t, it’s because she hasn’t tried it. “What about champagne?”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “I don’t mind it, but only enough to not get me drunk. I don’t like feeling out of control.”
“Control issues, huh?” I chuckle, wrapping my arm around her waist and squeezing her against me while bringing my lips behind her ear. “Wonder where you get that from…”
She relaxes even further into my grasp, and everything I told myself earlier flies out the fucking window. She turns in my grip and I loosen enough for her to do so.
Leaning her head back, she rests her hand on my chest. We shouldn’t be this close. Fuck, there’s a lot of shit we shouldn’t have done, but we did. I took the only thing she could offer anyone and ate it as a meal… in more ways than one. “Can you tell me what Lucan would do to you?”
I still. The grip around her body completely falls away and I zone in on her pupils. Completely disconnected. Away. Gone. She lost me. “No.”
“I just…” She traces her hand down my chest and I’m out of her embrace instantly, squeezing her palm in my hand.
My teeth clench together, the veins in my temples pulsing with anger. “No, Saint.” I push her hands down and step away. All of the anger that I put on hold when she walked her pert little ass down those stairs begins to spillover the lines of patience that I drew.
