Touching her would’ve tainted her and I never wanted that. I could’ve admired her, loved her, worshipped her from afar for the rest of my life and just been happy for the brief moments of being in her presence.
And then she had to go and push it, push me, want me the way I’d always wanted her.
Now I live in a constant state of purgatory.
I need her.
She haunts my dreams and most of my waking moments.
Her whimpers, her breathy moans, her sweet, soft laughter.
She tamed the demons inside me, bringing them to heel with a gentleness I never expected them to submit to.
I fucking crave her like a desperate addict dying for his final fix.
I don’t deserve her.
I will only hurt her.
As if my every thought is written all over my face, Jaggerd McKinley meets my hard stare and gives me a look that says he feels my pain but tough shit because I brought it on myself. Dixie has once again confiscated his flask and he’s guiding her out of the party with a carefully placed hand on the small of her lower back.
One centimeter lower and he is a dead fucking man.
A powerful wave of adrenaline, testosterone, and primal territorial instinct hits me so hard I nearly stagger.
Only the image of breaking his hand slowly, bone by bone, brings me any sense of relief.
“Garrison? You good, man?”
Levi stands behind me looking both concerned and apologetic.
I clear my throat and nod. “I’m straight.” Glancing around, I realize the crowd has thinned considerably.
“Hey, for real, sorry about the bathroom. We just had that one quick break and I didn’t know—”
“Y’all done for the night?”
Fuck. How long have I been staring at Dixie? Apparently long enough for the band to call it a night and a middle-aged DJ to take over.
“Yeah, we are. Dallas was kind enough to give us the last hour to scope out the single girls. You know how chicks are at weddings.”
“Huh.” I regard him closely, contemplating this.
Is that what happened? Dixie was lonely because her brother was getting married and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time?
This is the problem with being a user. You know your own motivations and you project them onto others, assuming everyone else is like you.
But I know her. Don’t I? I did, anyway. Hooking up for the sake of hooking up isn’t really her style. Or it didn’t used to be.
Damn it. In my quest to get my shit together, I’ve all but shut her out of my life completely. It seemed like the best idea for everyone involved, but now I’m wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake. Because watching her now, half-dancing with Jag on her way to congratulate the happy couple or say goodbye or whatever the hell, I realize that my little Bluebird is all grown up—and maybe, for the first time since we were kids, I don’t know who she’s become.
“Obviously that doesn’t include his sister. We all got the warning. And even if we hadn’t, we’ve all watched you plot McKinley’s murder for the last hour and a half, so you’re good, man. No one wants to die tonight.”
“What?” I tear my eyes from Dixie and return them to Levi. I forgot he was even still standing there, much less still speaking.
Damn attention deficit bullshit.
Levi looks at me like I’m high. I wish.
“Later, Garrison. Have a good night, man.”
“You, too,” I say absently as he walks away and I realize I’ve lost Dixie. She was right beside Dallas and Robyn and now she’s gone.
“Hey, you. I get off in half an hour.”
The voice is female and inviting. It belongs to an edgy-looking redhead in a server uniform. My hands are in my pockets and I realize I probably look nonthreatening for the most part, but I’m still loner guy at a wedding full of mostly happy couples. I guess that screams “dude looking to get laid.”
Which I usually am. Or I used to be.
“Good to know,” is all I say, because interested or not, there’s no sense in being hurtful.