Page 43 of Stirred Up

“So fine,” he whispers.

I place my hands tighter against his shoulders and pull myself back into our previous, normal dancing position. That should be enough to show Brady two can play that game.

Ashamed for involving Cole, I give him a sweet smile then chance a peek to assess Brady’s reaction and the saying holds true—play with fire and you will get burned.

Which I am, scorching from head to toe in a blaze of excruciating fury as I watch Brady dip the hussy and feed feverishly at her mouth. When he pulls her back up and links his fingers with hers, the motherfuckerwinks at mewhile he whispers in her ear, then, to my horror, leads her off the dance floor.

I’m frozen in agony, each of their steps leading to the double doors where their sordid tryst awaits sending a splinter of jealous agony through me till my gut is twisted beyond repair, about to explode.

“Mmm, come back here,” Cole grunts in my ear.

I robotically push him away, eyes still on that damn door. Brady turns back once and catches my stare, a passing flash of I can’t decipher what it is on his face before he turns and continues his exit…officially taking what I thought was a bratty game of torment way too far.

“Mind if I cut in?” my father asks, appearing out of nowhere.

Cole looks to me with guarded restraint. I’ve definitelyled him on tonight, but the fury flooding my veins keeps me from feeling the depths of the guilt. I’ll simply add it to my recent list of sins as I never plan to see the man again.

“Of course not, Dad.” I force a smile his way then press myself closer to Cole for a brief hug and whisper, “Thanks for the dance.” I place a chaste kiss to his cheek then turn and take my father’s hand.

Cole leaves the dance floor, seemingly satisfied, after throwing me a subtle wave. It eases a tinge of the rage I have when I glance at the door again.

Just like when I was a young girl, my father twirls me out then draws me back into his arms. I smile for him, always daddy’s little girl, but the thought of Brady out there somewhere with that…my lip trembles.

My head rests against my father’s shoulder as I blink back tears.

“You look beautiful tonight, baby girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “Can you believe it? Dyl’s really doing it.”

“Yeah, we always knew he’d find his way, just like you did.”

“Right.”My way?Had I found it? Sure doesn’t feel likeit.

“Is something wrong?” He pulls his head back and I lift mine, his lowered brows pressing me to talk.

“I’m just a little lost right now, that’s all,” I confess, shuffling my feet, constantly glancing to the infuriating door Brady has yet to reenter.

“Is this about Brady?”

My breath catches and I shake my head with adamant denial. “No, Brady and I are fine.” My lie is smooth.

“Good.” He looks relieved but it doesn’t last. “You’d tell us if there was something wrong, right?” he asks, twirling me out again.

“Yeah, of course.”

He’s staring down at me as though he’s waiting for something, for me to spill some big secret. What exactly does he know? Did Brady talk to Dylan? Or someone else? It’s a small town, after all. I’m not sure what to say.

“Addison, honey, it’s none of my business and you’d probably prefer to talk to your mother about it but…” His voice lowers and a hint of a blush creeps over his cheeks, one that I haven’t seen since he attempted the birds and the bees talk when I was fourteen. “There’s been some talk around town and I’m worried.”

“Talk? About what?” The song winds down and I step out of his arms, suddenly apprehensive at the way his face tightens with worry. Dad’s always loved Brady like a son; I know he’d be thrilled for us to get together and wouldn’t understand my refusal. My head’s a wreck, forming a drawn out explanation why Brady and I are better as friends.

“That you’ve been to doctor’s office a lot lately. If there’s something you need to tell us, please, we’re here for you. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it.”

Get through it?Get through what? Then it hits me. He thinks I’m sick. It has nothing to do with Brady. It’s about all my appointments.

I laugh, almost manically so, until his worry turns into horror at my outburst. It’s official—my life can get no worse.

“Addison!” my mother calls out, stepping beside us.

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