The fact that he has me questioning myself infuriates me. And the notion that I’ve spent so much of the past hour and a half thinking more about what Hayes sees when he looks at me than actually having a good time is the last straw.
Screw him. Screw his opinions and his thoughts and his judgmental eyes that are looking my way once again. He’s the one who walked away. He’s the one who gave up a good thing without a fight, and if he’s going to keep staring at me, I’m going to show him just what he’s missed out on.
I take another sip, well aware that my courage is in the form of liquid, but I don’t care.
Pride is still pride.
My laugh becomes a tad louder. My hips sway to the beat a bit more. When I look his way the next time, his jaw pulses and his focus is more intense. My only acknowledgement is a smirk in return.
Another sip. A playful twirl out from another of Ryder’s friends that leaves me pressed flat against his chest when I spin back into him. I’m breathless from the exertion and extremely buzzed so it might take me a bit longer to step away as our chests heave against one another’s. Or I might just be well aware that Hayes has his very fine ass resting against the back of a stool a few feet to our right and his eyes haven’t left me.
The night plays on. My concern over what Hayes thinks or doesn’t think about me slowly fades with each drink I have, each person I chat up, and every laugh that falls from my lips.
Ryder senses something is going on. Notices this unspoken dance between Hayes and me and the invisible barrier of our shared history vibrating between us. My brother catches my eye a few times, asks if I’m okay, and I smile in return.
He told me I had to find my confidence again. Little did he know I’m choosing tonight to do just that.
I’m laughing at something trivial, attention focused on some antic of one of the guys when I feel a hand on the bare nape of my neck. I still, somehow knowing who the hand belongs to.
Heat. It’s all I can feel. All my mind focuses on. From his skin touching mine. From the unexpected presence of his body behind me, his lips to my ear, his breath hitting my skin. From the sudden ache in the V of my thighs.
“I love the laughter much more than the temper.” Hayes’s comment is barely a murmur, and yet I can hear every single word despite the constant boom of the music.
I force a swallow down my throat and nod my head, needing to hold tight to my confidence, and hoping to keep solid ground beneath my feet, because being near him is making it off-kilter for some reason.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t piss me off.” I turn my head toward him, eyebrows raised, proud of myself for my comeback, until I realize he’s so close we’re breathing the same breath. I startle back—uncomfortable at his proximity and confused over the sudden awareness of everything about him. His cologne. His fingers still resting on my neck. The scent of mint and beer on his breath.
It has to be the alcohol. That has to be the explanation for my visceral and very carnal reaction to this man I shouldn’t want to like. Ten years should have curbed this desire.
And yet it didn’t.
His smile is quick and disarming. “Seems like pissing you off is something I know how to do all too well.”
I snort. Can’t think of anything else to do because between the brush of his body against mine and the alcohol swimming in my head, words fail me. All I want to do is hate him—validate the hurt I’ve harbored over the years—while at the same time sag back against him and just remember the feelings I once felt. Feelings he doesn’t deserve.
Stupid alcohol. Stupid feelings.
My defiance remains, but it’s much harder to stand by it when those chocolate-colored eyes are staring at me up close, and I know from memory that those little flecks in them are almost gold in color.
But I will resist you. Because you missed out, Hayes. You didn’t want me.
Or how his lips, now slightly parted and only inches from mine, could kiss me senseless. And that was when he was a teenager. He’s had years of practice now. I’m sure he’s gotten even better at it with age.
I don’t like you. You or your swoony eyes and perfect kisses.
Or what his body looks like. I’m tired. My feet hurt. I bet if I leaned against him his body would feel as muscular as it looks. Because I’ve never watched his movies. Ever. Never seen the sex scenes he acts in or the one where he walks bare-assed to the shower. Never rewound them to watch them again. Nope. Well, at least that’s what I’d tell him.
I giggle as his eyes narrow at me. A slight smirk on those lips again when I don’t want to think about them anymore.
He glances over to my brother and nods at something. I roll my eyes. Here we go again. They see each other for the first time in forever and without missing a beat, fall right back into their silent way of talking without words. Frustrating me because I know whatever they said is about me.