Page 27 of Bound

Scalding.

Judging.

Yeah, no. I don’t need any more of that.

Not after yesterday. Not after?—

“Something caught your eye, Jackson?”

I jump and hurry to the table, ignoring Smitty’s arch question, ignoring Jackson’s sharp retort, ignoring the other chatter and teasing as I hurriedly set up the guys’ pregame snacks.

“Thanks for the drinks, Clairey girl!” Smitty calls, as I turn around, his voice ringing around the room.

My cheeks flash fiery hot, and I fight the urge to bolt, wanting nothing of his piercing brown eyes that see far too much, his dog-with-a-bone mentality to ferret out gossip.

Wanting nothing to do with Jackson and all the complicated feelings he has churning in my stomach.

My shoulders hunch, but I force them to relax as I lift my head, plaster on a smile, and nod. “You’re welcome,” I tell him. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

I start for the door.

“How was your date?”

Dammit.

I pick up my pace, definitely going for avoidance now, but even though I’m not looking at Smitty, I feel my cheeks burn hotter.

Can I make it into the hall without raising suspicion?

A quick flick of my eyes to his tells me enough.

Nope. I sure can’t.

“It was fine, Smitty,” I say, hoping he’ll listen to the unspoken note in my tone and leave it the hell alone.

Smitty, though, doesn’t leave it alone.

“Finedoesn’t exactly scream a good date,” he says, loudly as always.

I grind my teeth together, go straight avoidance even though I know he’ll press me for answers later. “Bye, Smitty.”

“Did he do something?”

I freeze.

Because that didn’t come from Smitty.

I slowly spin to face Jackson, whose tone is steely and expression is hard as granite.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, not in Smitty-volume, but loudly enough to be heard throughout the entire room, and everyone falls quiet, sending their focus to me.

“It’s not like that,” I hedge, moving to the door even more quickly. Escape. I need to escape because I cannot have this conversation. “I have other things?—”

Jackson is suddenly in front of me, strong, warm fingers wrapping around my arm. “Did. He. Hurt. You?” he growls.

This from the man who’s done his level best to push me away?

Who left me thinking he hates me more often than not?

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