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Everything I try to do ends up like this—with him standing there looking at me like I’ve done something wrong, his jaw clenched tight and his shoulders tense.
But I’m not the asshole here. He is.
And I’m fed up with his shit.
Instead of giving him the satisfaction of saying anything or chewing me out in front of the entire crowd of men, I just flip him off and climb out of the ring, stalking away.
15
Fuck this shit.
I want nothing more than to leave and go home. I don’t mean the guys’ house, either. I want to go back to my own home and sleep in my own bed and scream into my own pillow about what a fucking asshole Sloan can be when he wants to.
And it seems like he always wants to.
Hell, I’d even settle for going back to their house and barricading myself in my room at this point. A shower to wash this night off sounds good, and I can call Scarlett and bitch about what a fucking dick I’m stuck with.
But I can’t exactly leave since they’re my fucking ride and I don’t have a car of my own. I can’t be in the main room with all of them for another second though, so I keep walking until I find the locker room at the back of the warehouse, down a long, dimly lit hall.
That will have to do. I walk in, slamming the door shut behind me while I try to calm down.
The door slams open again a second later, before I even have time to take a breath, and Sloan barges right in, still radiating his bad mood and looking pissed as shit.
“What the fuck was that?” he snaps, glaring at me like I’m some kind of misbehaving child.
“I could ask you the same damn thing,” I shoot back. “I was fucking winning, and you had to get all up in my business. Jesus, I don’t know why you can’t just stay out of things. I can take care of myself.”
Sloan laughs, but it’s a harsh, cruel sound that has no real humor to it at all. “Right. I’m not so fucking sure that’s true. You started the night off grinding on some handsy lech in a club and ended it by rolling around on the floor with your ass hanging out for every man in the place to see.”
“So what?” I demand. “Why the fuck does it matter to you?”
I step forward, not backing down for a second, not even in the face of his anger. He’s the kind of guy who seems like he’s used to getting what he wants and having people be afraid of him, but that’s not happening here. I don’t care if he’s angry. I’m just as pissed off. More, even. The adrenaline from the fight is still there, pushing me to finally have it out with Sloan for being a controlling, overbearing dick when no one asked him to.
There’s something wild and feral in his icy gray eyes, and it’s not just anger, I don’t think. The tension that always seems to surge between us when we end up arguing rises up like a force of nature, and I don’t back down from that either, leaning right into his space and letting the feeling carry me along.
“What the fuck is your problem, Sloan?” I press. “You don’t like other men looking at me? Well, that’s too fucking bad. You don’t own me, and I can do whatever the hell I want.”
I give him one last look and then march past him toward the door, ready to go back out there and prove it. Baldy’s probably up by now, and if he isn’t, I’ll wake him up and make him give me another go.
I don’t get that far though. A hand wraps around my wrist, tight as a vise, and Sloan yanks me back around to face him.
Our chests press together as I slam into him, our bodies colliding. My chest is heaving as I breathe through my anger, and Sloan’s in the same boat. I can practically feel his pulse racing, and I know he can feel mine too.
The air is thick with the tension, snapping like lightning right before a storm. We stare at each other for a long moment, frozen in place, our eye contact charged with the same energy.
And then suddenly, he lunges forward and smashes his lips against mine.
That’s the spark that lights the flame.
That’s all it takes to burn us down.
I gasp softly in surprise but kiss him back. My hands go to his chest, fisting the fine material of his shirt and not giving a shit about leaving wrinkles behind.
We kiss wildly, viciously, as if we’re each fighting against whatever this thing is and losing. His mouth tastes like whatever he was drinking, something smoky and dark and all too tempting, and even though I’m mad as hell at him, I can’t help the way my body seems to fucking crave him. I want his hands on me. I want him to kiss me until I can’t see straight, and I can’t deny it anymore with him right there, giving me everything I’ve been holding back on.
The roar of my blood in my ears is even louder now, and I give in to it, pulling Sloan closer to me and giving as good as he does.
Even this is a battle of wills, because of course it is. We each fight for the upper hand, wanting to come out on top. I can taste the anger on his tongue when he shoves it into my mouth roughly, can feel the frustration coiled just under his skin, and it echoes the same feelings in me.
