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I shook my head, moving with him on the crowded dance floor to the soft instrumental music. “You’re easy to read,” I said. “But, to be fair, I’m great at reading people. I’m not falling for Ethan,” I clarified. “But I do care about him. About helping him.”
He eyed me, a skeptical look flickering over his features. “Is he okay?” he asked more seriously.
“I’m not allowed to discuss personal details of our sessions,” I explained.
Crossland nodded, shifting us to the beat, the hand on my hip moving to the small of my back to make the spin necessary for the melody.
It was fun, no doubt about it, but I found myself shocked by the lack of my body’s physical response to him. He was gorgeous, there was absolutely no denying that. And funny, definitely adventurous, and brave enough to poke not only the terrifying man that was Gareth, but Ethan as well with this dance. But there was nothing sparking beneath my skin, no thrill of excitement that I was in his arms when any girl would be over the moon to be given any hint of attention—
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
If I wasn’t even having the barest of thrill at Crossland’s attention, but my heart leapt at the mere sound of Ethan’s voice…
That meant…
No, not going there.
“He seems better,” Crossland said, looking down at me. “These past few weeks.”
“How so?” I asked, wondering if Ethan had left out some stories about him having episodes so constantly that our short amount of work on his anger would be noticeable by his friends.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s not like he Hulks-out around us or anything, but there is just something different about him. I’ve known him for years now, and he’s never seemed more content.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “That’s good to hear,” I finally said. “He’s been very open to our sessions.”
“Somehow, I think it’s more than that,” Crossland said, spinning us again. “And—”
A commotion across the room stole the words from his mouth and stopped me dead in my tracks.
Maddox Porter was being openly yelled at by another man in a suit, and Ethan was storming across the room.
“Shit,” Crossland and I said at the same time.
I released Crossland, and rushed across the room, but not in enough time to intercept Ethan, who had already forced himself between the two men.
“You don’t get to talk to my players like that, Jepson.” Ethan’s voice was elevated, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he glared at the man.
“You talk to me like that all the time,” Maddox interjected, and I cringed.
“Fuck off, Maddox,” Ethan grumbled.
Maddox laughed, eying the other man. “Jepson here is just pissed I said no to his trade offer,” he said.
“You’re going to regret it,” Jepson said. “You milked me for four dinners and tickets to a Broadway show, you little son of a bitch. All while you knew you were going to say no. You’re going to fucking regret it. I’m going to make you regret—”
“Threaten my pitcher again,” Ethan snapped, his voice carrying across half the room. He stepped up so close to Jepson, their chests about touched. Ethan’s hands were fisted at his side, the muscles in his neck tensing.
“That prick deserves it,” Jepson said, unaware of how dangerous it was to poke Ethan while he was in this state.
I surveyed the scene, my heart racing. Ethan was seconds away from an episode. I could see it in his tense muscles, in the chilling set of his gray eyes.
“He’s a mooch,” Jepson continued. “A low-life, low-on-talent, lying mooch. You know it, Berkley. He uses people. You know how he is—”
“Ethan,” I gasped his name as he drew his fist back, barely getting there in time to lay my hand over his coiled forearm.
Maddox maneuvered his way in between Ethan and Jepson.
“It’s fine,” Maddox said, turning his back on Jepson. “It’s fine.”
“Ethan,” I said again, keeping my tone even. His eyes finally met mine, shame and regret and enough anger there to blow up this entire scene. And help. He was asking for help, but didn’t know how to voice it.
Triggered. His protective instinct, the one so ingrained in him he couldn’t recognize when it surfaced, had been massively triggered by Jepson’s blatant verbal attack on Maddox.
“Come here,” I said, urging him by tugging on his forearm. He followed me effortlessly, the move shooting relief through my veins the farther away I got him from the scene.
And it was a fucking scene. One the media presence was practically salivating over their phones discreetly out and pointing the direction we’d just left.
Vultures.
“What color are my eyes?” I asked when I felt his muscles tremble beneath my hand.
“What?” he asked, blinking at the question.
I kept moving, only stopping when we’d exited the ballroom and slipped into a private alcove just around the corner.
