I pushed away from the wall. “Talking.”
“Don’t do that,” she said, anger cutting through her voice. “Don’t stand there and pretend you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.”
My gaze dropped to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “I knew.”
“Hayden,” she warned.
I stepped closer, slowly, giving her time to move while making sure she knew I wanted her to stay. “You left the table because of me.”
“I left because you were being an arrogant asshole.”
A faint smile touched my mouth.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said after a second. “People will see.”
“Let them.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest, a gesture I recognized too well to mistake for anything else.
“You’re causing attention again,” she said. “You could have stayed at the table.”
“I didn’t want to stay at the table.”
“Why?”
“Because I was two seconds away from breaking Whitmore’s fucking hand for touching your back.”
Her lips parted, anger flashing across her face. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“He’s too close to you,” I said, my voice dropping. “Far too comfortable. Damn familiar for a man who has no idea what he’s standing next to.”
She let out a sharp breath. “So? That is not your fucking business.”
“The hell it isn’t.”
“You have no say in who stands near me.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer. “But I sure as hell get to hate every second of watching another man put his hands where mine used to be.”
She stepped to the side, trying to move past me, but I caught her wrist before she could leave. The second my fingers closed around her skin, the air between us changed.
She froze. “Hayden!”
“Relax,” I said, keeping my grip firm to stop her from walking away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“That you have no right to grab me whenever you feel like it.”