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“Oh,” I breathe.
Christian spins her once, then pulls her back in by the waist before whispering into her ear. Whatever he said has the woman grinning with enough suggestion on her face that I can practically smell the sex from here.
The realization of what I'm seeing hits me hard, humiliation flooding my veins.
He didn't lock me out on accident, or because he was worried. He did it because he was pissed off. And he's here to forget about me.
“Well,” I mutter, forcing a crooked smile on my face. “Guess that answers that.”
Owen reaches out to grab my wrist. “Dev—”
“I’m good,” I rush out. “Really. I just wanted to—”
To what? Tell him the judge didn’t send me to prison? That I bought new clothes and a fucking dirt bike keychain with his name on it? What a fucking joke.
Gently pulling my wrist free, I take a step back. “I’m gonna head out.”
Salem turns fully toward me now, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I probably should.” My eyes are still locked on Christian as the girl stretches onto her toes, lips puckered.
And that’s when Christian looks up, our eyes locking across the buzzing dance floor.
His smile vanishes.
Hope blooms inside my gut, but instead of pulling away from the woman to approach me, he keeps his gaze on mine as he dips his head…
And kisses her right on the mouth.
A tidal wave of hurt crashes over me.
“Wow,” Owen says, turning his attention toward me. “That's, uh…”
“I'm out,” I spit, turning on my heel to head for the door, Arnie's men be damned.
Getting kicked in the face would feel ten times better than the bullshit I just witnessed. They'd probably drag me back to his bar anyway, and I'd end up in the same situation as before.
Maybe I should let them. What is even the point of doing all this noble shit for, anyway? Not like it matters when I have nothing and no one to cheer me on. Maybe some numbness is exactly what I need.
Maybe it'll kill me this time.
“Dev, wait.” Another hand grabs my shoulder before I can get more than a few steps away, and I crane my neck to see Logan standing behind me.
“Let me go.”
“No, just hang on.” He licks his glossy lips nervously before his palm slides into mine. The feeling of our fingers threading together keeps me in place. “Why don't you dance with me?”
I stare at him for a long moment. “What?”
“Well… everyone else is partnered up. Salem and Owen are chatting, Christian’s occupied. So dance with me.”
His lips quirk into that crooked grin of his, and a blast of déjà vu renders me speechless.
I'd said those exact words to him once, at a street market in Indianapolis last summer, when we found ourselves in an eerily similar situation. I kissed him in front of everyone that night, effectively outing him to all his friends and changing the course of the entire tour. Salem beat the shit out of me for it.
“But you're my brother,” I say, echoing his response to my offer last year with a cocky smirk.
“Adopted.” He grins, pulling our bodies flush. “And I think some innocent dancing with me is the least you can do after everything that's happened.”
