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“What’s up?” JT gives me a weird look, which means I’m severely at risk of leaking the truth.
That I am jealous as can be, even though I have no right to be. It’s not like I’ve staked a public claim on Max. I know he wouldn’t take advantage of that to see other women on the side, but I still can’t help fantasizing that I part the crowd in a smooth sweep, march up to them, and replace the girl. I want to be the only one pressing up to him, holding his hand, taking in his sandalwood scent.
Damn it. My eyes are prickling. I wasn’t even this affected last night when this happened too.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say through gritted teeth, allowing her to pull me the rest of the way in.
As we make a slow journey to the bar, Max’s eyes don’t leave mine for a second. They want to tell me something I’m not getting. And thanks to Chelsea, who should probably be hired by the freaking FBI, I can’t just sneak off with Max now.
I take several deep breaths. Waiting for a bartender to acknowledge our existence helps me bring my blood pressure down. Maybe I can still salvage the night. I could hang out with the girls for an hour or so before claiming a stomachache, and then text Max with a meeting place. Away from the puck bunnies he now seems to be attracting. Somewhere we can be all by ourselves.
Sounds like a plan.
While my friends are embroiled in a discussion about whether to dance or hit the dartboards first, the cranky bartender appears before me.
“What do you want?”
“A backbone?” I ask, sighing.
“We only sell sugar and regret here. Which will it be?”
“Sugar.” I slap a five-dollar bill on the bar. “Of the soda variety.”
“You got it.” Was that a tiny twitch of his lips? The beginnings of a smile?
While I contemplate whether I just made a new friend, a sudden shiver trickles up my back. The jerky motion gives me a bit of pain, and I wonder what caused it. When I glance over my shoulder, I catch Max still looking at me. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, as if he’s upset. At me. Or about me. Even though that girl is still trying to chat him up.
“Uh, Luz?”
It takes me a moment to find where the voice is coming from. Amid apologies to my teammates, Brett emerges to stand beside me. His face blocks my view of Max.
“Hi.” I’m careful that my tone of voice doesn’t show that I’m one second away from cringing.
Maybe he can tell, because he laughs awkwardly and says, “I know I’m probably the last guy you want to talk to, but I’ve been on a journey of sorts.”
Oh, boy. What the heck does that have to do with me?
“And I’ve realized I’ve been a jerk to you, so… I’m sorry?”
My shoulders deflate. “Oh. I have to admit I wasn’t expecting that.”
He wrinkles his nose as if he catches a whiff of all my previous feelings about him. “Yeah, Max was pretty shocked too. It’s just, I’ve had really bad experiences with jocks in the past, and I projected. But you guys are pretty decent.”
I try to make eye contact with my boyfriend again, but the space is too packed with people trying to get a spot at the bar. My drink’s still not here, but the five bucks is definitely gone, so I have to hang on.
“I appreciate it,” I say in something close to a shout.
“So, friends?” Brett asks, offering his hand for a shake.
Eh, what the heck? I shake it. “Sure.”
“Rodriguez.”
The deep growl is unexpected but comes from the person I most wanted to see. Somehow, in a matter of seconds, Max managed to weave through the crowd and now stands beside me. In his suit and black coat, he looks like some rich guy in the middle of a crowd of peasants. My tongue grows thick, and it takes all my willpower not to open my mouth and drool. Why does he have to look so fine all the time?
Not only Brett gives him a funny look, but so do the Strikes all around us.
Max doesn’t care, though. Loud enough for everyone who cares to hear does, he says, “We need to have a talk. Captain to captain.”
