Bend (30 page)

Did I black out there for a moment? I was watching her and Logan, but I have no memory of her moving or taking a seat by me.

“Sorry,” I tell her quickly. “Did you ask me a question?”

“What are you doing?” She enunciates every word while her green eyes—so much like Mia’s, except Lily’s are framed by crow’s feet—seem to be smiling at me.

I’m feeling kind of disoriented. Have I had too much to drink already? I knew the alcohol was a bad idea.

I take a deep breath. “Just, uh. Having a beer. Enjoying the party?”

“No.” Lily’s tone turns sharp. “I meant, what the hell are you doing, Jay? Why are you sitting here while that handsy Mitchell boy is dancing with Mia?”

My grandma thinks you’re my boyfriend. I’ve given up trying to convince her she’s wrong.

Mia told me that. Years ago. Guess Lily never gave up that notion?

She reaches for my hand that’s keeping a death grip on my beer bottle and gives it a pat. “I went up to that DJ and requested a song for you. He said he’d play it next.”

Huh? I stare dumbly at Mia’s grandmother.

Before I can ask what she means, she tosses a baleful look at the dance floor and says, “I don’t think he’s planning on letting her go anytime soon.”

No. No, he’s not. The motherfucking douchebag piece of shit.

My chair scrapes the floor with a squeal as I push it back and get to my feet, muttering, “Excuse me.”

My legs feel a little weak as they carry me around the table toward the center of the room. I squeeze past the dancing couples, offering a hurried apology to one woman who bumps into me.

Then I’m standing right next to Mia and her partner. The douchebag notices me first, and he stalls, eyeing me with narrowed eyes.

As Mia is forced to stop dancing, too, she shoots me a look of confusion. “Jay?”

I start to say I’m sorry, but the words get stuck in my throat.

Because I’m not fucking sorry.

“I’m gonna have to cut in,” I say instead.

Letting go of Mia, Aaron Mitchell grinds out a noise that’s part huff, part snort. “I beg your pardon?”

I curl my lip, squinting at him. Seriously. Who lives in this century and says, “I beg your pardon?”

The song ends, and the DJ’s voice cuts in. His announcement is rushed and kind of slurred, but I catch a few words here and there, including “request” and “The Drifters.”

“Mia clearly feels obliged to dance with family friends,” I explain coldly to the other man, stepping closer to her and wrapping my hand loosely around her elbow. “It’s my turn.”

The douche lets out a humorless laugh brimming with incredulous outrage. Just as the next song starts, his gaze unglues itself from me, shifting back to his dance partner. “Mia?”

Oh, that’s great. He can be courteous and sensitive all he wants, asking her opinion. Meanwhile, I’m not waiting for her answer.

Turning away from him, I wrap my arm around Mia, resting my hand on her back. My other hand takes hold of hers. She looks kind of shell-shocked, and when her other hand goes up to my shoulder, I’m pretty sure she does it without thinking.

And then I’m leading her around the dance floor to the beat of the light and poppy ballad. The DJ obviously knows he’s playing to a mostly older crowd, but I don’t mind. I’m dancing with Mia. I’m holding Mia. My anger starts to melt away.

And then the song lyrics register. They’re about a guy who lets his woman dance with other men but wants her to remember who she’s going home with. I smile to myself. Mia’s grandmother knows what’s what.

With a little shake of her head, Mia seems to recover her faculties. She still sounds stunned as she says, “What happened to rule numero uno?”

“What happened to not sharing towels or drinking straws?” I swing her around just in time to catch a glimpse of the douche as he retreats past the other couples, away from the dance floor. Good for him for making the right choice.

“I was only dancing with him.”

No, actually, I’m pretty sure she was punishing me. I guess it worked.

“And now,” I say, “you’re
only dancing
with me.”

She falls silent. I can smell her lotion again, and it’s giving me flashbacks to this afternoon in her bedroom, spinning and spinning in the office chair with her straddling my lap.

If we were back there right now, it’d end differently. I wouldn’t have let her go.

Her fine-boned hand seems small enveloped in mine, and the gauzy fabric of her dress is so thin I can feel the heat from her skin underneath it. In this light, her sea-green eyes look murky, and it’s well known that murky waters are not safe.

Watching her from across the room while she danced with another guy didn’t feel right. But this—keeping her close, commanding her attention, claiming her—this feels right.

“You’re the one who said it was against the rules,” she points out when she finally finds her tongue again.

“Sometimes the rules have to be broken.”

The music starts to fade out, transitioning smoothly into “The Way You Look Tonight,” except with this one, the DJ’s choosing to play the Michael

“Yeah?” She raises her brows, her eyes like firecrackers. “And when’s that?”

Over her shoulder, just beyond the dance floor, I see Aaron the Douche standing in a small group of people with a drink in hand, but in the few seconds that he’s within my line of sight, his gaze slides toward us.

Yeah, he might have backed off, but he hasn’t given up. My shoulders stiffening, I look back down at Mia and reply, “When you let a stranger put his hand on your ass.”

Her lips clamp together, and her hand twitches and clenches inside mine. Any hint of playfulness evaporates from her face. “A,” she says tightly, “he’s not a stranger. And B, he didn’t touch my ass.”

A snort escapes me. “Sure as hell looked like he did.”

She leans in, and her breath is hot on my ear as she lowers her voice so that I can just barely hear her above the music. “I like having my ass touched, Jay. I’d definitely know if he did.”

Oh, Jesus. Could she have picked a more maddening response? No, she could not.

I’m swallowing hard, my mouth suddenly parched, and my dick really wants me to haul her off the dance floor and find someplace private where I can find out just how much she likes it.

I like having my ass touched.

I might even settle for semiprivate right now.

We’ve made another three-sixty, and there’s the douchebag again. Glancing in our direction. Again.

“You’re not dancing with him.” I can hear my voice as the words spill out, and I don’t sound like myself.

Going rigid in my arms, she inches back to look up at me, her expression chilly. “I’m pretty sure that’s not your decision.”

“He keeps staring at us,” I say, turning my head in the asshole’s direction, and yup, I catch him looking again. “He’s like a fucking hyena, waiting for a chance to pounce.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “Nice analogy.”

“Thank you. You’re not dancing with him again.”

She blows out a huff. “How exactly are you going to stop me?”

Good question. I’m having visions of going full caveman by tossing her over my shoulders and carrying her out of the room. It’s a satisfying fantasy, but yeah, not gonna happen. I haven’t totally lost it.

It’s pretty early still—I’m sure we’ll be here for another couple of hours at least—and I can’t put a leash on her, can I?

But maybe that stuff’s not necessary. Maybe I’m considering killing a mosquito with a shotgun when all that’s needed is a swift and well-aimed swat.

Am I really that desperate, though?

One look into her eyes, her familiar and beautiful eyes that are widened in question and glinting with stubborn defiance, and I don’t even have to think about it.

I dip my head down and kiss her.

She gives a little jerk, and I sense the surprise ripping through her body. Keeping us swaying along with the mellow rhythm of the music, I tilt my head farther and press my lips harder against hers. I feel it the moment she softens, the instant when her shock gives way to surrender. Because I’m her weakness. Just like she is mine.

I’m tossing my own rule out the window right now, and there will definitely be repercussions. People here will notice that I’m kissing Mia. But I don’t care. The only person I give a shit about watching me kissing Mia Waters, watching me stake my claim, watching me mouth-fucking her is Aaron Mitchell. I want him to pay close attention and get the message.

The song peters out, and I scrape her bottom lip gently between my teeth as I pull back. We stop moving. The DJ’s saying something through the speakers again, but that’s just background noise. My heart hammering, I see only Mia and her heavy-lidded eyes that are anchored to mine, can only hear the sound of her quick, shallow breathing.

“Like that,” I murmur.

She looks blank, dazed. “Huh?”

“That’s how I’ll stop you.” Slanting a glance around the room, it takes me a second to spot the douchebag. He’s chatting with a middle-aged woman in a sleek black dress, his back turned to the dance floor. “And I think it worked.”

“Oh.” It’s all she says while standing here in my arms, blinking up at me with her mouth slightly parted.

“You’re not dancing with him again,” I repeat for good measure.

“Okay.” Her head bobs once.

An up-tempo pop song starts. Apparently the DJ thinks it’s time to kick it up a notch, and I’m done with dancing. But I’m not ready to let Mia go.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Yup.” She nods again, being uncharacteristically monosyllabic.

Keeping hold of her hand, I turn on my heel and begin to lead her off the dance floor. I’m careful not to look around the room as we stride past the dancing couples. Time enough later to worry about who noticed and what the repercussions will be.

With a sideways peek at her, I ask, “Think we can be subtle about leaving?”

Twisting her hand inside mine so that we’re braiding fingers, gripping each other tighter, she tugs slightly on my arm so that our progress across the room slows. I look down at her and see that life has returned to her eyes and her cheeks are glowing pink.

“I really couldn’t care less, Jay,” she says.

Right. For once, we’re in perfect agreement.

I’
m gonna have to cut in.

We’re sitting as far apart as possible in the backseat of the small SUV belonging to our Uber driver, who’s a quiet and gangly guy about our age. I haven’t dared touch Jay, not since we left the party. I’ve barely even dared to move, and we haven’t talked much.

My blood is buzzing and humming with alcohol and anticipation, and all that tension and urgency and lust feels like a third passenger in the vehicle, taking up way too much space between us. A living and breathing thing, it’s crowding and smothering me, causing a vague sense of claustrophobia. I’m so anxious to get home to my parents’ house, where we’ll be alone, that my bones are aching. The waiting is actually causing me pain.

I’m gonna have to cut in.

His words, which he spoke with such calm authority, are like an infinite echo in my head.

Jay kissed me. On the dance floor. In front of everyone. Because he was jealous.