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“Oh… Not much,” I stammer, glancing back quickly to find Grey still stalking us like a freaking wolf. “Um… just… hung out with friends, finished my yoga retreat.”
“You do yoga?”
“Yeah. I teach it too… Well, it’s my first year teaching.”
He swallows down a mouthful of food, eyes widening on my face. “I’d love to see that. I hear yoga teachers are extra flexible…”
What an ass…
I force a smile. “Look, I’m so sorry. I never normally do this, but I completely forgot to text someone something really urgent before I arrived. Do you mind if I send them a quick message?”
“Of course not,” he replies.
“Thanks.” I grab the phone from the top of the bar, scrolling down to Grey’s name.
What the hell are you doing here?
Afraid to peer behind me for fear that Philip finally realizes I’m checking out another man in this place, I stare at the phone, hoping he has the decency to respond… which he does.
Deciding which way your date is going to die…
And in which very memorable ways I’ll be making you regret the decision to dare talk to another man.
Oh, shit…
Philip must see my pale face, for he asks, “Everything okay?”
“Um… Yeah… Just… one second.”
I type back, my hands so shaky that I have to delete every second word and rewrite it.
I’m single and can do what I want.
Now go away and leave me alone.
I want to enjoy my date.
I know that last line was kind of an asshole move, but I don’t care right now.
Suddenly, I’m determined to actually take this date seriously, if for no other reason than to piss off the presumptuous asshole who thinks he has some claim over me… despite the fact that I’m finding his particular brand of unhinged-in-a-designer-suit possessiveness panty-meltingly hot—not something I ever thought possible after my history with Micah.
“All done,” I say, reaching for the glass of wine to steady my nerves, not daring to turn around to see Grey’s face as he reads my response. I gulp down a mouthful. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. You… um, like it?” he gestures to the glass I put back down.
But before I can answer, a staticky whirr of movement has me tilting my head as the familiar scent of a certain cologne sets my senses on fire and the space to my right fills with a dark figure.
Fuck…
“Good evening.” The unusually gravelly rasp of a deep, elegant voice cuts through the chatter and irritating lounge music pervading the room.
I look up to find Greyson creating the triangle from hell with Philip and me. My mouth hangs open for a few seconds as he takes his wallet out and puts down two hundred-dollar bills. “For your meals,” he utters, his tone callous.
He turns to me and I realize from the roughening of his handsome face and the rapid way he’s speaking that his body is some metal overcoat filled with gunpowder, just ready to blow and send shards of shrapnel flying everywhere.
“Put your coat on, Indigo,” he orders through gritted teeth. “Now.”
“What?!”
