“She looks nice,” Caleb says as I take a long, much-needed sip of my drink. The gin stings as it goes down, and I feel it slosh in my stomach like an impending storm.
“Want to get out and chat them up? See which one sticks?” Mal asks.
Caleb nods. “Yeah, give me a minute to finish my beer.”
“You mind if we go dance while you do that? Love this song,” Bree says, and Caleb waves them off with a flick of his wrist.
Mal looks a little reluctant to go but is ultimately swayed by Bree’s hands dragging across him.
I roll my lips between my teeth before saying, “I didn’t realize you were actually coming here to pick someone up.”
“Yep. That’s the plan. That bother you?”
Of course it does, but I don’t say that. I can’t say it. Can I? Can I admit what I truly want? Because wanting anything feels dangerous when my entire life has been mapped out for me, when every desire has been dismissed before I ever had a chance to feel it, to experience it.
But I did with Caleb. For a moment, I was alive.
His beer bottle hitting the table with a loud smack has me jumping slightly.
“Welp, off I go. Wish me luck,” he says abruptly, scooting out of the booth. I’m stuck to my seat, watching as he strides across the bar, his ass looking fucking good in those jeans.
I shouldn’t interrupt. It’s not fair to him, but when he makes his way over to that cute girl who smiles up at him sweetly, I slide out of the booth and approach him.
“Excuse me. Can I talk to you, Caleb?” I say, my lips far too close to his ear.
He eyes me, and when I don’t move, he sighs and throws his thumb over his shoulder, leading me outside until we’re at his Jeep.
We face each other, silence looming like a shadow between us.
Finally, I just point at his Jeep and say, “Get in.”
He huffs and rolls his eyes again. “Um, I was kind of in the middle of something, man.”
Something angry moves through me, and I lash out, “I think we can reasonably say that she wouldn’t have gone for you.”
“Oh, you’re so full of shit, Whit,” he says, folding his arms across his chest, the anger and hurt clear on his face.
I huff and turn my gaze away, knowing this is hypocritical, but unable to stop myself. “Please get in the car.”
“Why?”
“We’re going home.”
“Uh, no. We’re not,” he says, dangling his keys in front of me. “In case you forgot, I’m driving. And I’m here for a chick, man. Don’t kill my vibe.”
My hands flex, and I feel something akin to dread move through me.
“I would rather you not.”
“Rather I not what?” he asks, his voice laced with annoyance.
I run my hand through my hair and peer at him, desperation slithering through me. “I’d rather you not take one of those women home.”
“And what’s it to you?” he asks, his gaze intent on mine. Heat coils in my stomach, the way he’s looking at me slowly undoing everything I’ve worked for.
Oh fuck. I’m going to cave. I feel myself slipping already.
“I’m happy to continue our previous arrangement, if that’s what you’d like.” My voice is measured and steady, completely opposite of how I feel.