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Now it appears both men are ready to explode.
“I told you I was going to get her,” I answer indifferently.
I nod over my shoulder. Gigi’s hurrying down the steps after me.
Relief floods Colson’s eyes when he sees her. Then he notices Beckett behind her.
“What the hell? You were upstairs with him?” he snarls.
“I was using the bathroom,” Gigi says.
The lie leaves her mouth smoothly, but we both know that’s not what she was doing up there.
I can’t explain the jolt of…something…that surges through me at the memory of finding her and Beckett up against the wall.
Fuck.
I think that something might be jealousy.
This girl is starting to get under my skin. I don’t like it.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Case is oozing disapproval. “Why are you hanging out with these guys?”
“We got invited to a party,” she answers with a shrug. Unruffled by his visible displeasure.
“Who’s we?”
“Mya and me. What are you doing here?”
“We were driving back from Malone’s, and I saw your car on the street. At first, I was like, No, there’s no fucking way Gigi would be here.” Bitterness hardens his voice. “And yet here you fucking are.”
Trager pipes up obnoxiously. “These assholes sprained Coffey’s wrist, G,” he reminds her.
“Hey, that was all you,” Shane tells Trager, rolling his eyes. “You threw your man into a table. Don’t put that on us.”
“Your boy Hawley started it!”
I’ve already tuned them out. Colson has too. He’s too busy frowning at Gigi.
“Go get Mya,” he orders. “We’re leaving.”
She appears like she wants to argue. Then she releases an annoyed breath and surrenders. “One second.”
She charges toward the kitchen. The music starts up again, blessedly drowning out whatever’s yapping from Trager’s mouth. Guy is such a douchebag.
While we wait for Gigi, Colson’s attention remains firmly fixed on me. A hard glare like I’m the one responsible for this.
But as always, Beckett’s dick gets us in trouble. The only surprising part of that is that Gigi Graham fell for it. She doesn’t seem like the type to go for one-night stands with fuckboys.
My mood grows darker, and it was already pretty dark before Colson decided to storm into my house. Started around the time Carma also decided to show up unannounced, claiming she forgot her necklace when she was here. For all I know she had the thing stashed in her pocket when she came tonight. I know I’m a suspicious asshole, but I tend to err on the side of cynicism. Expect the worst, then be pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. Which rarely happens.
Maybe that’s not the healthiest way to live your life, but it’s how I’ve lived mine since I was six years old. Saved me a lot of disappointment over the years.
Gigi returns a minute later. “Mya’s staying,” she says tersely. “Her friend Kate will drive her home.”
“Let’s go.” Case’s tone invites no argument. Harsh and unyielding.
She glances over her shoulder at Beckett and mouths, Sorry, when Case has his back turned.
Beckett just shrugs and grins.
Still on guard, I march to the front door and stand there, watching them trudge down the path toward the sidewalk. Trager is typing on his phone. Colson speaks in a low voice to Gigi, who looks irritated with him. They stop in front of her SUV.
I get a petty sense of satisfaction when Colson tries to open the passenger door, and she whips up her hand and evidently tells him not to get in.
Within seconds, she starts the engine and drives off. Taillights blinking.
Colson remains at the curb. As if sensing my presence, his shoulders harden, and he turns to scowl at me. I roll my eyes. He spins on his heel and stalks down the street. Home, I assume.
Just another friendly neighborly visit from my cocaptain.
“That was fun,” Beckett remarks, stepping onto the porch beside me.
I shake my head at him. “Antagonizing them on purpose now? Come on, bro. Of all the chicks to get tangled up with.”
“You’re giving her private lessons, mate. You can’t lecture me about entanglements.”
My irritation only grows. “All I’m saying is, be more careful next time. What if he’d run upstairs? You were five seconds from screwing her in the hallway if I hadn’t interrupted.”
Beckett blinks. Then he starts to laugh.
“Oh. I see.”
“What?” I mutter.
“When you said you weren’t interested…it was opposite day. Got it.”
I’m feeling too tense and volatile to respond. So I just grimace.
Beckett claps me on the shoulder, still chuckling. “All good, mate. I’ll back off.”
I want to tell him there’s no need, that he can do whatever—and whoever—he wants. But those words, the go-ahead to keep pursuing Gigi, can’t seem to leave my mouth.
At the end of the weekend, we get a team-wide email saying we’re required to stay an extra hour after practice on Monday morning.
PR guru Christie Delmont strikes again.
