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I see anger flash across his face as well, those amber eyes flicking a quick glance at Hillary and Kelly before he takes my free hand and says nothing while leading me away from the table.
Trying to pull away is useless, my shoes skidding on the floor as he tugs me forward.
“Damn it. Stop,” I demand, yanking my hand free as he turns to face me.
“What are you doing?”
His lips twitch with humor, but then he steps closer in that way he has of stealing my personal space without any concern for what it does to me. His head dips down, and his eyes are level with mine.
I just want to scream because I have no fucking clue who I’m looking at.
“I’m taking you to dance.” His voice is gentle and teasing, as if what he was planning should have been obvious.
“Why? Shouldn’t you be dancing with your date?”
I hate the way the words snap off my tongue with so much burning jealousy I’m surprised he’s not scorched.
All he does in response is arch a brow, grab my shoulders and spin me in place enough that I can stare over at the table.
I have no idea what the other twin is saying to Hillary and Kelly, but he’s hovering over them in that threatening way of his, his words clipped and brutal if the tears running down their cheeks have anything to say for it.
When I attempt to turn away, he traps my shoulders to hold me in place, his chest pressing against my back as I watch his brother lead Hillary and Kelly away from the ballroom.
His lips press against my ear.
“Happy now?”
“No.”
Letting me go so I can turn back to him, he grins down at me.
“Are you going to dance with me or what?”
“What just happened?” I ask, even more frustrated than I was ten seconds ago.
“We got rid of our fake dates. Why?”
There’s humor in his answer, his eyes glimmering and warm.
“Fake dates?”
What is he talking about? It pisses me off when his shoulders shake with quiet laughter.
“Did you think we actually wanted to come with them?”
I’m sure he intended for that admission to make me feel better, but it’s just another example of the games they play.
Instead of comfort, I feel anger. And instead of feeling relief, my muscles tense with warning and suspicion.
“That’s not okay. Why would you do that to them? This is their prom, and you treated it like a game?”
Ezra...or Damon...winces, honest surprise flickering across his expression.
Fuck, I don’t even know who I’m talking to.
“Who are you?”
“Damon.”
