Page 18 of Shattered

I blink repeatedly as the music gradually returns to the room. I didn’t notice I had completely tuned out until I heard the music and voices blending together. I refuse to look at Brayden again. I keep it moving toward the table. My heart beats erratically and I have to take deep breaths to calm my racing heart. There’s a trickle of sweat forming at the back of my neck. Out of nowhere, my clothes seem too tight, and I urgently want to escape from this place. Now.

I don’t make it to the table; I grab Amy’s attention and gesture toward the door as she quickly nods and grabs her bag and coat off the table. I manage to get to the doors before she does and hold them open so she can duck under my arm. I stare at herperfect ass swaying in the tight dress as she walks out and I tell myself to not turn around. but again, my body has a mind of his own.

Again as if it’s being controlled.

Holding the door open, I come to a stop and take a quick gulp of air before casting a glance back.

Fuck.

I quickly exhale before taking another breath. It’s Brayden who I see, with a smirk on his face and a beer bottle gliding along his swollen, full lips as he stares back at me. He stood with his back against the bar, ankles crossed. He lifts his beer bottle toward me, then drinks from it, causing my eyes to fixate on the lump in his throat as it bobs with each swallow. My own mouth goes dry.

Swiftly, I avert my eyes and walk out of the bar, maintaining a fast pace with my head lowered.

“Hey, you OK?” Amy startles me as I reach the doorway.

I snap back at her, frowning, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Why am I acting as if I’ve done something wrong? She rears her head back slightly and opens and closes her mouth.

“Fuck, sorry Amy. I had a long day. Maybe we can rain check?” I cringe when I notice the disappointment in her eyes.

“Uh yeah sure.” As she glances around, intentionally avoiding meeting my eyes, I feel like a dick. I can’t put into words what just happened and why I’m reluctant to invite Amy to my house now. Recalling the image of Brayden staring at me while he rubs against the guy, triggers a nauseating feeling in my stomach. Was he getting off on seeing me watch him?

Fuck.

It’s not appropriate for me to be staring at him in that way. What caused my body to heat up when I saw his lips on that guy? What caused my stomach to flip when his stare burned through me intensely?

I quickly reach for my phone to order an Uber and one for Amy as my thoughts race at lightning speed.

Amy’s Uber arrives first, and we exchange numbers before she gets in. I stare into thin air as I wait for my Uber, my stomach turning at what’s just happened. Maybe there was something that could stop me from enjoying my night.

Brayden.

There are many levels on which this is wrong. He is my student, and I am his teacher.

Above all else. I’m straight.

Seeing Brayden leaning on the bar, smirking at me, instantly comes to mind and sends my heart into overdrive.

Well, at least I think I am.

Chapter thirteen

Brayden

It’s 7:30 and I still haven’t heard from Bexley. He’s obviously running late, which is fine, but I’m getting annoyed by my constant fixation on the bar door.

“He’ll be here, man. He’s likely simply got caught up.” Kal studies me with a tight-lipped smile as he takes a sip of his beer.

I understand what ‘caught up’ means. It’s likely his phone is constantly buzzing and he can’t find a moment to come here. I take my phone out of my pocket and select Bexley’s number. Placing the phone against my ear, I hear the continuous ringing until it abruptly stops. With a loud exhale, I make it clear to the bartender that I need another drink by signaling with my glass.

“That’s your third one in half an hour, champ. Slow down,” Tray says, still on his first drink. With an eye roll, I grab my third drink from the bartender and take a long gulp. As the doors open again, I turn my head and realize it’s not him. I take out my phone from my pocket and repeatedly check the screen for any missed texts, but there’s none.

Nine o’clock comes round quicker than I had wanted. Still no sign of Bexley, but I’m past caring right now. He can fuck himself.

“Fuck him,” I quietly mutter to myself as I take my second shot. I lost count of how many beers I had, but they weren’t enough. I needed more to take the edge off, so I began on the shots, and I can already tell two will not be near enough.

“Quake, you need to slow the fuck down, man. Remember, it’s a Sunday,” Tray goes on again. I sarcastically roll my eyes and give him the finger before getting up and going to the bar. I push past people, prompting a few “Hey, watch it!’ comments.

I could do with a fight right now. Hopefully, someone starts.

---