“Yes, shots!” Grace shouts, appearing from out of thin air as she skips into the kitchen.
I’ve been able to avoid her for weeks now. I haven’t seen her more than once or twice since the last party.
“Right on,” Cassie cheers.
As we all grab a cup, Grace turns her attention to me. “I saw you at the gym the other night, Cam. Looks like those bicep curls are doing you justice.”
Her fingers trail over my bicep, nails catching the thin fabric of my blue polo shirt. It’s the nicest top I own, and paired with gray slacks, I followed Atticus’s order as best as I could.
He didn’t complain, so I think I got it right. Plus, both items can be removed in a hurry.
“Thanks,” I reply dryly, sidestepping her touch.
“Dink it and sink it,” Cassie demands, holding her shot out to us.
We knock cups and tap the bottom to the table before throwing them back. The liquor burns, a welcome pain, and I wince as I swallow in one go.
I don’t drink often—it fucks with my muscle gain—but when I do, I enjoy almost every second of it. Until the hangover, that is.
“Let’s make drinks and head back in.” My best friend grabs three solo cups and makes us each a Crown and Coke, and then I follow the girls into the living room.
The music is so loud that we’re shouting to hear each other as Cassie tells me about some douchebag she encountered at work.
“What a prick,” I agree, downing more of my drink.
Cassie just nods enthusiastically, which leaves room forGraceto speak again. She’s starting to annoy me even more than she did before.
“So, Cam,” she starts. “How’s it working at the shop?”
“Fine,” I tell her. “Lots of sweating.”
It’s meant to be a joke, or maybe even to gross her out, but she just grins.
“Sounds hot,” she purrs. Once again, those fingers reach out and latch onto my arm.
Her touch sends disgusted shivers over my body, which she undoubtedly perceives as lust, as she grips me harder.
“Aww, cute,” Cassie croons. “I’ve been trying to get Cameron to date for years.”
It’s a true fact, but not something I wantGraceto hear.
With a strained smile, I say, “Guess I haven’t met the right one.”
“Or maybe,” Grace interjects, “you haven’t given the right one a chance.”
Her knowing smirk and death grip tell me she believessheis the right one, and my mind drifts to Atticus. To his warm, strong hands and his filthy words.
I can’t very well tell them I am giving the right one a chance, so I just force a tight smile and look around the room for somewhere to escape to.
But then I spot him. Leaning against a wall by the stereo is Atticus, and his eyes have narrowed in on Grace’s fingers clutching my arm.
Oh, shit. He doesn’t like that. I can read him most of the time, having spent so many nights together, and I can tell that he’s about three seconds from ripping her arm off.
Atticus is a possessive, vicious thing when he wants to be.
Luckily, Cassie saves the poor girl, asking, “Cam, can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?”
I’m quick to agree, shooting one last glance Atticus’s way before following her to the guest room. The room in which Atticus took my mouth like it belonged to him and turned my entire world upside down.
