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Joey cocked a brow. “Looks like you were doing a real stellar job at that.”
“She’s drunk She’s a handful when she’s like this.”
“So, that’s your excuse for almost pulling her arm out of its socket?”
“Someone broke my halo, Joe,” I wailed, waving a broken piece around aimlessly in front of his face. “I’m a fallen angel now.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replied with a shrug. “No one likes a saint, Molloy.”
“Aoife, come on.”
“So, what are you dressed as?” I asked, batting a random hand away, as my gaze trailed over the fitted white shirt and blue jeans Joey had on. “Let me guess,” I teased, reaching up to fluff his perfectly styled hair and then letting my hand move to the silver chain hidden beneath the collar of his shirt. “You’re a fallen angel, too.”
“Come on, Aoife,” Paul interrupted, catching ahold of my waist, and pulling me roughly to his chest. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“No,” I growled, huffing out a breath. “I don’t want to go with you. I want to stay and dance with Casey.”
“Now, Aoife!”
“It doesn’t look like she wants to go anywhere with you,” Joey interjected coolly, stepping in front of us when Paul carted me towards the exit.
“I don’t,” I agreed, nodding vigorously, as I slipped out of his hold. “I want to stay.”
“Stay out of it, Lynchy,” Paul warned, reaching for my arm again. “She’s my girlfriend, not yours. I’ll look after her.”
“Then why don’t you start by asking her what she wants?” Joey countered, taking a protective step in front of me. “Not fucking telling her.” Piercing green eyes locked on mine, when he turned back to me and asked, “Molloy, do you want to leave with him?”
“No,” I replied, and then hiccupped loudly. “He called me a slut.”
“You called her a slut?”
“I didnotcall her a slut,” Paul quickly defended, pulling on my arm. “I told her that she was dancing like one.”
“Same thing,” I shot back, yanking my arm free from Paul’s overly tight grip, as I leaned heavily against my protector’s tall frame. “I’m not dealing with you tonight, so just go away and leave me alone.”
“Aoife.”
“No, stop. I’m not going with you, Paul.”
“You’re drunk and that prick is off his head on god knows what,” Paul snarled. “If you think I’m leaving you alone with him, then you’re out of your mind.”
“I’m not leaving with you,” I screamed, losing my patience. “I’m mad at you, remember?”
“So, what?” he demanded. “You’d rather stay here?” His disgusted gaze flicked to Joey. “Withhim?”
“Why not?” I slurred, patting his stubbly cheek with my hand. “He’s my friend.”
“Yourfriend?” Paul deadpanned. “He’s not your friend, Aoife. He’s a fucking druggie who’s only out for a good time.I’myour friend. I’m the one who cares about you. I’m yourboyfriend. You’re mine, dammit!”
“I’m not your property, Paul,” I screamed over the sound of Mickey Modelle’s dance version ofI’ll Tell Me Maas it blasted from the DJ booth.
His eyes bulged in his head, and he looked like he was about to lose his mind.
“Yes, you fucking are, now let’s go,” he roared, losing his cool with me. “Because there’s no way in hell that I’m allowing you to stay here with him.”
“Allowingme?” I hissed, outraged. “You don’t get toallowme to do anything, Paul. Who the hell do you think you are? I’m my own person. I make the rules for me.”
“Fine,” he attempted to coax. “We can talk about all of it and more outside.” He reached for me again, but this time it was the boy I was leaning against who batted Paul’s hand away – and not gently, either.
