Page 126 of Offside Devil

R.I.P. Finance Bro. I should probably feel bad that I never even caught his name, but I don’t.

“Fuck his name,” Daniel spits, saying exactly what I’m thinking. “I don’t care who they are. The only thing I care about is where their hands are. They better not be on my woman.”

I’m still staring down at the bar, too frozen with… something… to move, but Taylor doesn’t have my baggage. She whips around with a laugh. “Nobody owns me, Danny Boy. I can do what I like.”

Daniel growls and Jason—er, Marcus—backs away with his hands raised. “I’m not really interested in what’s happening here. Goodbye.”

Then Daniel falls forward, his hands gripping the bar on either side of Taylor. “Don’t tell me you want to waste your time with a man who wouldn’t even fight for you.”

Taylor glances my way. She looks at Zane’s hand on my shoulder. His fingers are digging into my skin like he wants to brand me. “I don’t think it was a waste of time.”

She’s misreading this. Zane is holding onto me, but it’s because I lied to him about not coming out. Or maybe because I’m not supposed to be with another man so we don’t ruin the optics for CPS…

Or… something.

Point is, there’s gotta be some other reason why his hand is sliding down my bicep and hooking around my elbow. There’s a logical, not-at-all-romantic explanation for why his nose brushes against my neck, why he’s breathing me in like he’s a dying man and I’m his last meal.

“Listen, man,” Finance Bro balks, slipping backwards out of his chair in an effort to keep some distance from Zane, “we were just talking. She didn’t say she had a boyfriend.”

He didn’t ask. Even if he had, Zane isn’t my boyfriend. That feels worth repeating right now as my thighs clench and my heart slams against my ribcage.

Usually, confrontations like this bring up all kinds of shit I’m not ready to process. When tensions get high, I get hurt. My body goes into fight-or-flight. But for some reason, the angry growl in Zane’s voice is tapping into a heretofore unknown option number three. Coincidentally, it also starts with an “f.” I have to bite my lower lip to keep from leaning into Zane’s chest with a simpering moan.

“She’s mine,” Zane snarls.

Even the blood in my veins freezes. Everything stops. My not-boyfriend swivels my stool around so we’re finally face to face, and—yep, there it is. Option number three.

Fight.

Flight.

Fuck.

This is why I should have stayed home. I should be wearing my male-repellent pajamas with a locked door between me and the object of all of my most recent fantasies. If I was, I wouldn’t be arching closer to Zane as if I want to lick his neck like an ice cream cone.

I wouldn’t be thinking, Maybe I can stay. Maybe I can have this. Maybe I can stop running and let Zane protect me from the ghosts of my past.

His eyes are swimming in color, a trick of light from the disco ball. “She’s mine,” he growls again. Softer, lower. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or someone else.

Because there’s no one else here anymore.

Zane tugs me off the stool, and I fall into his chest. My body slides down the length of his, my already short dress bunching around the tops of my legs. I know what he wants. I also know I should sit my ass down and stay far, far away from Zane Whitaker. For the sake of my poor racing heart, if nothing else.

“I can’t leave Taylor,” I blurt, looking over to my friend for solidarity. “She’s—” Currently swallowing Daniel’s tongue.

Daniel is wrapped around Taylor, pinning her to the bar. Based on the way she’s dragging him closer and moaning, I’m guessing they already worked out their issues. Or, if they haven’t yet, they’re about to… in front of a bar full of witnesses, no less.

Zane leans forward, his lips against my ear. “You’re coming with me, Mira. Even if I have to throw you over my shoulder kicking and screaming.”

I’m tempted to let him. I want his hands on my body more than I care about everyone else seeing straight up my dress where the sun don’t shine. And when he grabs for my hand, I let him pull me away from the bar.

Zane walks through the lounge like he knows where he’s going. Like he’s been here a thousand times before, even though it’s the opening night. It’s the way he walks through life: confident, self-assured.

He’s a man who knows what he wants.

Right now, what he wants is me.

His thumb traces back and forth over my knuckles as we walk. We pass by the kitchen and a storage closet. So many rooms where Zane and I could go unseen. Finally, he stops at the end of a short hallway and pulls me through a heavy wooden door.

---