“What does he even do?” Zeke asks, leaning forward to refill our glasses. “Just…stand there all night? That’s fucked up.”
“Follows me everywhere. Literally everywhere.” I accept the refill, sloshing more over my hand. “Bathroom? Gray’s there. Brunch? Gray’s there. Try to get laid? Gray’s standing outside the fucking door counting my thrusts.”
That’s not true, but it gets the laugh I want from both of them. Truth is, Gray mostly keeps his distance. Just not enough that I can forget he’s there. Always watching, always judging, always reminding me that I’m not trusted to handle my own life.
“I bet he reports everything back to your dad,” Alyssa says, examining her nails.
“So what?” I slur. “Dad grounds me? Takes away my allowance? I’m twenty-fucking-two.”
But we all know Dad could do worse. The trust fund has strings. Invisible, unspoken, but definitely there. Behave or else. Be the Kingsley heir or else. Stop embarrassing the family or else.
Gray shifts his weight, and my eyes snap back to him. His broad shoulders fill out his fitted black button-down in a way that would look tryhard on anyone else. On him, it looks like the shirt should be grateful. His eyes scan the room methodically before landing back on me. I hold his gaze, waiting for him to look away first.
“He’s like a robot,” I mutter. “Programmed for maximum buzzkill.”
“Maybe he needs to get laid,” Zeke suggests, waggling his eyebrows. “I know a few girls who dig the whole brooding bodyguard thing.”
“He’d probably critique their technique,” I say. “Too inefficient. Suboptimal pleasure delivery.”
I mimic Gray’s deep voice, and Alyssa cackles, throwing her head back. She’s wearing too much perfume. It’s cloying in the already thick air.
“You should mess with him,” she says, leaning in close to my ear. “See if you can make him break character. I bet there’s a real person under all that…muscle.”
She draws out the last word, glancing back at Gray. Something in her look makes my stomach twist.
“He’s not a person,” I say. “He’s a wall with legs.”
Zeke raises his glass. “To walls with legs!”
We toast, and I down my drink in one go. The room spins a little faster, the music a little louder. I reach for the bottle again, but my hand misses, knocking against a glass. My brain feels slow and sloshy, like I’m moving underwater.
“You good, bro?” Zeke asks, his face swimming in front of mine.
“Fantastic,” I say, though my tongue feels thick. “Never better.”
I push myself up from the booth, needing air and space. My legs wobble beneath me, and I stumble forward, bumping the table hard enough to send an empty bottle crashing over. The sound is distant, like it’s happening to someone else.
“Whoa there!” Zeke laughs. “Someone’s feeling it!”
The club whirls around me in fractured pieces: strobing lights, faces, speakers pumping out bass I can feel in my teeth. I blink hard, trying to focus on something to make the spinningstop. My gaze lands across the VIP section where Alyssa has shifted closer to Zeke in our booth.
They’re huddled together, heads bent close. Alyssa’s hand moves furtively, and she pulls something from her tiny purse. A small packet that catches the light. Even through my drunken haze, I recognize what it is.
Before I can process what I’m seeing, a large hand grips my arm. Firm. Unyielding. I know who it is before I look up.
“We’re leaving. Now.” Gray’s deep voice cuts through the music like it doesn’t exist.
I try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. “The fuck we are. Night’s just getting started.”
“It’s over.” His tone leaves no room for discussion. He’s steering me toward the exit before I can form another protest, his body a solid mass against mine.
“Let go.” I try to dig my heels in, but my feet are uncooperative, sliding across the floor. “You can’t just—you work for me!”
Alyssa looks up from whatever she and Zeke are doing, her eyes widening. “Wy? Where are you going?”
Gray doesn’t even acknowledge her existence, continuing his determined path toward the exit. I twist in his grip, looking over my shoulder. “This asshole won’t let me go!”
She stares, mouth slightly open, making no move to help. Zeke smirks beside her, raising his glass in a mocking toast. Traitors.
