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The alcohol lingering in my stomach curdles as I watch them, and my chest starts to ache. I press my palm against the black material, rubbing gentle circles in the hopes to rid the growing heartburn. Stupid alcohol. Because that’s what it is.Heartburn.
It’s definitely not the way she easily slips into position in front of the guy, letting him place his hands on her body. Nor is it the way he whispers in her ear, making her laugh freely as her head lands on his chest.
I tip my head against the wall, closing my eyes against the sudden barrage of emotions. It’s not that I want that, it’s just . . . Oh, who am I kidding?
I want that.
I want the ease of slipping my hand into somebody else’s as they reach for me. I want to stand near a guy without worrying he’ll use his hands against me in anger. And most of all, I want to laugh and dance and be free. Instead of being locked in a cage that my mind built to protect me.
There’s only one person who I haven’t felt that familiar simmer of anxiety with when he leaned into me, somehow knowing instinctively that no matter what his words say, I’m never not safe with him.
But my body lies. Maverick is the most dangerous person to me because while we have a lifetime of memories, he’s the one person who can truly break me. No part of me could be safe with him for that reason.
So why is he the only person I can think of when I let my mind wander, let myself imagine what itcouldbe like had Sebastian never come into my life.
The air changes in the room, pulling me away from my thoughts. My eyes flutter open, heavy as the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed over the last few hours hits me.
I force them over the room, and goose bumps travel over my skin at the feel of someone staring at me. Watching me. A vicious chill settles in my bones as I push off the wall.
Move. Move. Move.
Where the feeling comes from, I don’t know, but it’s been two years since I’ve felt this sting of pressure. Felt the weight of someone’s stare on my shoulders.
I push off the wall, stumbling through the crowd. Maisie is nowhere to be seen, but I think I’m moving in the wrong direction. That thought’s not enough to stop me though.
Finding the stairs, I force my feet to move, taking two at a time before I hit the bottom and jog outside. Warmth simmers in the evening air, though it does nothing to rid the bitter cold eating away at my body. I press my back to the cold brick wall, my hands at my thighs as I hunch over catching my breath.
Little by little, the eeriness drops away, leaving only heavy fog in its place. I pull in heaving breaths, counting in my head. Five things, all the way to one. When my eyes open again, they find a huddle of people walking over the parking lot, heading to the dorm behind me.
My heart constricts at the sight. Maverick with a girl under his arm as he leans down, whispering into her ear. She tilts her head back on a laugh. She’s beautiful. Long toned legs clad in leather pants, a black corset top that clings to her lithe frame showcasing ample cleavage, and a face that could stop traffic.
The sight of them together is hard to miss, the way they walk comfortably side by side as if they’ve done it a thousand times before.
And that same ache from inside hits me again, claiming my mind as I fumble with my bag, finding my phone. Typing out a quick text to Maisie, I amble into the shadows, leaving the party and the sight of Maverick and the beautiful girl behind.
Chapter Nine
Beatrice
“I’mnottalkingtoyou,” Maisie grumbles, scraping her chair back as she slides in beside me. The sound hits my temples, and my head rebels, my stomach recoiling. “Seriously, we are not friends today.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cover the fact I called you fifty times last night,” she says, glaring at me, and I instantly feel like shit . . . well, more shit. My first hangover does not disappoint. My head pounds, my mouth is cotton dry, and my stomach is more tender than I ever remember it being. “I got your text, but you were gone by the time I found my way outside. You promised you were staying put.”
“I know and I was, I just got dizzy, so I needed fresh air and then just went home,” I tell her, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes. What I don’t bother telling her is the reason I headed back to my dorm.
“Don’t look at me like that, with them soft, sad eyes,” she whines, dropping her head to the table. “I was worried.”
“I really am sorry, forgive me, pleaseee,” I say, laying my head beside her. She scowls at me, which only makes me laugh. Not ideal in the situation. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m still drunk.”
“Yeah, same. Remind me never to drink again.”
“Did you get laid at least?” I ask, closing my eyes.
“Nah, he was too nice.” She laughs. “Ironic, considering the plan was to find a nice guy.”
“You know,” a familiar voice says behind us. Silently groaning, I keep my eyes closed, banging my head on the table a few times in the hopes of waking up from what must be a nightmare. “I’m a nice guy. Aren’t I, Baby Bea?”
