“She’s where?” My grip tightens on the phone.
“She's here, and she's having one hell of a time.”
The only good thing about this is that I know she isn't far or in a ditch somewhere.
“What is she doing, Ez?”
“Well,” he drawls. “Right now? Grinding on some bloke on the dancefloor—which, by the way, is packed. Mr Nobody will dance on it.”’
Red flashes behind my eyes as I shove the door open and head outside. The image hits hard—some guy's hands on her, her body moving against his—it makes my skin itch with rage.
“She's with a guy,” I bite out, unlocking the car. “Ez—keep him away from her.”
He whistles. “Someone's jealous.”
“Just do it,” I snap, already sliding into the driver's seat, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
Nobody gets to touch what's mine.
The bar is packed. I've never seen it like this before. The air is thick with sweat, alcohol, and a bass that rattles through my bones. Flower garlands hang on the walls, cheap and cheerful, while inflatable balls bounce among a group of rowdy guys. Coloured lights strobe overhead, and I'm fairly certain there's a bubble machine going off somewhere near the DJ booth.
Turns out he didn't need to advertise it.
I cut straight through the crowd toward the bar, zeroing in on Ezra, who's flirting with a tall blonde with legs for days and a laugh that carries over the music. He spots me straight away.
“Hey, bro,” he grins happily, already reaching for a shaker. “You look like you could really use a drink.”
He pours something neon yellow into a glass. No chance in hell am I drinking that.
“Where's Willow?”
She is all I care about right now.
He jerks his chin toward the dance floor, sliding the glass towards me. “Still dancing with that bloke.”
A low growl slips out before I can stop it. “I told you to keep him away from her."
Ezra lifts his hands in surrender. “Oi, I tried, alright? She told me to fuck off, and honestly? One look at her boobs gave me a boner.”
I level him with a look.
“Those things should come with a warning label,” he carries on.
I hope my mum's okay with only having four sons, because one of them is about to be brown bread.
Judging by the way Ezra shifts uncomfortably when I don't say a word, he clearly realises that if he speaks about her like that again, it won't end well for him.
“Relax,” he says hurriedly. “I didn't touch her. Scout's honour.”
I narrow my eyes. “You were never a scout.”
“I think I’d make a pretty good Boy Scout,” he slurs, downing his drink, some of it running down his chin. I roll my eyes at him. The blonde who was glued to his side is long gone, and I doubt he even noticed.
“Good luck with your girl,” he winks, pointing towards the very crowded dance floor.
My girl sounds good, I just wish she were.
There she is.
