“Either I’m going to have to show you how very bad of an idea it is for you to be poking into club business, or I’m going to let your father make you understand,” he screams. Veins pop out of the sides of his neck, and a blue line appears on his forehead. He’s snapping. I can see it.
“Do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do,” I scream back.
The anger fuels me, pushing me to lose my temper. Still with his sunglasses in my hands, I shove against his chest to give myself some space. He steps back just one solitary step before reaching out and pulling on my arm. He spins me around with my arm behind my back and pushes me into the plaster behind me. His glasses, still in my hand, crack from the impact. The sky breaks with the crashing sound of thunder. Droplets of rain thump against the top of the covered porch. The welcome chaotic, rhythmic drumming provides a blanket of privacy over us, making me feel less exposed to the nosy neighbor next door.
“Are you going to listen to me now?” he says roughly in my ear.
“Are you?” I shoot back. “You don’t even know what information I have. I could help the club.”
“Last warning, Cheyenne.” His voice drops as his mouth falls to my ear, lips ghosting the shell.
I turn into his face, letting our cheeks touch as I whisper, “You need help. Admit it.”
He pulls back, but his grip on my arm is as strong as ever as he spins me around, pushing my face into the column. The warmth of his body disappears, and a cool wind picks up, chilling me. His hand slams down on my ass, pushing me forward.
I gasp, shocked and unsure how to respond. It’s just a moment before I struggle against him, but that only encourages him to bring his hand down to spank me again. I throw a leg back and kick him in the shins. Jeremy loses his grip on my arm, and I pull away, spin around, and lunge for him, swinging with an open hand. I make contact with his cheek. The force of my slap surprises me, and my flesh stings in response. He grabs me by my wrists. I pull away but lose my footing and pull us both to the brick pavers below. He lands on his butt. I’m falling backward when his strong arms yank me forward, bringing me down on top of him. He groans beneath me.
“You spanked me,” I say breathily, wholly incapable of focusing on anything else at the moment.
“You slapped me,” he responds on a ragged breath.
“But you actually spanked me,” I repeat, this time a little more forceful.
“I like your ass.” He sucks in a struggling breath.
I cast him a dirty look to find that my elbow is jabbing into his gut as I lie across him with my hip on top of his. It’s only my side that’s touching his front, but this feels more tender than when he was up in my room mauling me. Testing the waters, I shove my elbow deeper into his abdomen. He responds by scrunching his navy eyes shut and wincing, but he doesn’t move to stop me.
“This is for being a jerk,” I say and dig in as hard as I can. He kicks at the brick beneath him but still doesn’t stop me. “And for sleeping with my best friend when you know I like you. And for coming up here and fucking spanking me.”
“I deserve that,” he manages to say on a gasp. “You still like me?”
Forgetting all about the pressure I’m supposed to be applying to his stomach, I retract and demand, “Say it. Say you’re sorry and mean it, or I’ll figure out a way to crush your windpipe.”
He opens his eyes, and while they’re still red and swollen, like he’s been drinking and not sleeping very well, they’re still so very blue and so very deep. They’re one of the reasons I fell for him so hard and so fast. His eyes are absolutely gorgeous. I place my arm along his ribs and redistribute my weight so he can adequately breathe, but I don’t move off of him just in case he decides to be a dick again.
“I’m an asshole, okay?” he says. “I liked you, and I fucked it up. You made me mad, so I did what I always do. I shouldn’t have said shit about what happened at my party.”
It’s not an apology. Or maybe it is in a fucked up way, but it’s not enough. I don’t have the energy or time for halfhearted bullshit. He’s not sorry for what he did. He’s only sorry he threw it in my face.
“She was my best friend, and you could have been my boyfriend,” I say and shove my elbow into his gut again. His legs kick up as he hunches in and whines in pain. I stand and watch him recover from his fetal position to straighten out, suck in a large breath, and stand beside me.
“I was wrong,” he says. His face has fallen, and he looks sorrowful all right. It’s just not enough. Ian’s words ring in the back of my head, and I find the strength to not let him suck me into his web again.
You deserve good, so don’t settle for fucked up.
“I deserve better than that,” I say.
“I know.” He stands and reaches to cup my jaw. “So I’m going to take you home because I promised you that I’m gonna make sure you’ll be safe.”