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“Fuck off, Billy.”
Billy holds up his hands in innocence, swaying as he claims, “dude, I had her first.”
“Dude, I’m right fucking here,” Luna practically growls, body rigid, scowl deadly. “And the only thing youhadwas the stamina of an eighty-year-old man. Now, get out of my way.”
She doesn’t wait for him to obey. She simply shoves him aside, her heels sinking into the grass as she stomps toward the back door.
Billy watches her retreat with a whistle—apparently, he’s one of those guys who takes a woman’s complete disinterest as a challenge. Clamping a hand down on my shoulder, he murmurs in my ear like we’re co-conspirators, like I’m not five seconds away from throwing him out of my house. “Watch out, man. She might fuck good but the attitude ain’t worth it.”
Heat creeps along my skin, and for once in the presence of Luna, it’s not from mortification plaguing me. Shrugging so his hand falls away, I turn toward Billy. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I get it, okay? She’s hot. But does hot really outweigh batshit crazy?”
I blink at him. Once, twice, three times, whilst wondering if he really just said that. If he’s really smiling while he spouts shit. If he’s really waiting for me to laugh and agree.
I don’t know who’s more surprised, Billy or I, when my palms connect with his chest and shove him backward. “Don’t youever—”
“Jesus Christ.” Nails dig into my bicep as someone yanks me, hard, away from a stumbling, shocked Billy. “Reign it in, cowboy.”
I do no such thing. Unable to shake the surprisingly strong grip, I stab my free hand in Billy’s direction. “Get out of my house.”
“Jackson.” Another hard pull drags me towards the back porch, inside the house where I can’t glare at Billy anymore, and doesn’t stop until we’re upstairs. Luna shoves me into the first bedroom she stumbles upon and storms in after me, slamming the door shut behind her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“He-”
“-has the emotional maturity of a child, yes, I know. I didn’t knowyoushared that affliction.”
“He said-”
“I heard what he said,” she interrupts me again, hands on her hips and fury in her eyes, “and I can handle it. I don’t need you flouncing in like some hero.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Well, that armor of yours is looking awfully shiny.” Luna huffs, hair flying as she turns away from me, heels clacking as she paces the room. “You gotta pick your battles, cowboy. Drunk dipshits at house parties are not worth the effort.”
You are, though,I don’t deign to say aloud.
But I don’t apologize either.
I just stand and stare and as I do, it starts to sink in that the bedroom we’re in?
It’s mine.
Luna Evans is in my bedroom.
Standing bang in the center. Arms crossed, back to me. Long hair grazing the curve of her ass as her head tilts toward the ceiling, and when I follow her gaze, I suddenly hate her being in here. With a soft sigh, some of the tension eases from taut shoulders. “These are amazing.”
I frown at the rough paintstrokes holding her attention. Almost broke my damn neck, painting up there while trying to balance on an old, rusty ladder. But the view of rolling hills and blue skies reminding me of home is worth it. “They’re rough.”
Luna glances over her shoulder, pretty eyes rolling. “You're modest.”
I drop my gaze before the full effect of that smile hits. Quiet and discouraged, I ask, “Did you bring me up here for a reason or can I go?”
“Alcohol makes you feisty, hm?”
Yeah, the fault falls on the single beer I’ve had, for sure.
Heels clack against wood as Luna approaches, the tips of her toes just visible as she ventures too close. “I thought we solved this eye contact thing.”
