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“She wouldn’t like you to get her anything.” Vincent’s voice suddenly booms over the sound of the music.
Tom and David both start, their heads snapping toward the guy towering over us with his arms crossed, muscles flexed, and that thunderous gaze fixed menacingly on them.
“Leave,” he snaps. “Right now. Take whatever shit you have and leave.”
Clearly not looking for any trouble, they get up surprisingly—and a little disappointingly—fast.Whatever happened to a guy fighting for his girl?
I mean, sure, I just met them and I’m hardly their girl, but still.
Tom at least looks back at me after they get up to walk away. He even manages to inject a little hurt into his features. “I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.”
Vincent doesn’t give me a chance to respond. He doesn’t even miss a beat. “I’m worse than a boyfriend, asshole. I’m like her big brother, and no one is going to be fucking her on my watch.”
Although I’m sorry he’s being so horrible to them, it’s also just a bit funny that he’s so protective of me when, firstly, he hates me and, secondly, I’m here to protect him from himself.
Once the guys have skulked away and vanished into the crowd, I pat the seat beside me, and I nearly fall over when he actually sits down.
“Why did you do that?” I ask. “I was just making conversation. You’ve been doing it all night and it looked like fun, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
“I did it because our parents and our friends will never forgive me if you suddenly start bringing guys home after going out with me one fucking night.” He rakes his hands through his hair, not looking at me before he scrubs them over his face. “I might be a fuck-up, but I’m not dragging you down with me.”
“You’re not a fuck-up,” I reply automatically, but when he turns his head to face me and simply cocks an eyebrow, I’m forced to concede. “Fine. You’ve been doing some pretty fucked-up things, but that doesn’t make you a fuck-up. Fucking up is something you do, Vince. A fuck-up is not something a person is.”
With his head dipped between his shoulders, he glances at me again. “A fuck-up is not something a person is but rather what a person does. I like that. Where did you hear it?”
I shrug lightly. “I’m not sure. It’s just in my head. To my mind, it’s the same as being fat. A person isn’t fat. A person can never be fat. A person can have excess fat on their body and therefore look overweight, but what that person is, is not fat. It’s still a person.”
Those electric eyes make contact with mine, and Ialmostfeel the buzz running through me as a result. When he lets out a bark of laughter, though, I’m reminded of who I’m speaking to.
“Can a relationship be fucked up, then? Because ours is.” He waves a finger from my chest to his and back again. “It’s a complex thing to love a person because of how close the whole group is and to hate them at the same time.”
“As is feeling responsible for one another like siblings.” I glance in the direction in which Tom and David disappeared. “So is telling them that you’re my big brother when we’re both very aware of the fact that we’re not really related.”
“Exactly.” He dips his head in a curt nod. “So is it, then? Fucked up, I mean. Is our relationship fucked up?”
My head tilts as I consider the question more seriously than I think he meant for me to. “Our relationship is filled with complexities few will understand, but that doesn’t mean it’s fucked up. We’re just people, Vince. And people feel things. They do things. Our mothers were best friends before either of us was even a possibility, never mind a twinkle in someone’s eye. Our dads have been through some pretty hectic stuff together, and they’ve always only come through stronger together. So yes, you and I don’t like each other, but we do love each other. How could we not when we were raised to believe the Full Moon family is infallible as long as we stand together?”
“Yeah. I guess,” he mumbles, and this time, I see the words rather than hear them. He stares at the floor for a moment, then drums out a rhythm on his thighs and looks back at me.
As soon as he does, I hold my hand up and make the sign forscout’s honor. “I won’t take anybody home with me. You can go back to your friends. I give you my absolute word that I will not be getting fucked on your watch.”
Twin blue flames seem to dance behind his eyes as he holds my gaze, slowly moving his eyes from one of mine to the other. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but when he stands up, I half expect him to storm away without a word.
Instead, he extends one of his hands to me inch by inch as though he’s scared I might bite him if he moves too fast. “Dance with me?”
“Are you serious?”
He rolls his eyes and takes my hand when I let it hover just above his, too confused to know whether I should take it or not. “I’m serious, Liv. Let’s dance. Then we can head home. Those girls were boring me anyway, and it’s way past your bedtime.”
“Liv? You haven’t called me that since you commented on how ironic it was for someone who lives as little as I do to have that nickname.”
Long, strong, warm fingers close around mine, and once again, I nearly topple over. He’s holding on to me too tight, though. I never would’ve believed it if I wasn’t living it myself right now, but it’s true. Vincent would catch me if I fell over out of shock.
With him guiding me through the crowd separating my little nook from the dance floor, it’s much easier to navigate a path without smacking into anyone. As we reach the dance floor, he doesn’t hesitate to spin around, turning toward me while reaching out to take my free hand in his other palm.
He grips my fingers tightly, an amused and strangely wicked grin spreading on his lips as he walks backward while pulling me with him, his gaze never leaving mine. When he suddenly tugs on my hands and I half crash into his chest, he wraps his arms around me, and I’m enveloped by the rich, masculine scent of cedar and pine. I’ve caught faint whiffs of his woodsy cologne before, but this is different.
Since I’m not really sure what to do, I stand frozen in his arms.
