Page 23 of Hard to Break

“Appreciate it,” I manage. Even my mouth feels a step slow.

“Anytime. Your pranks are infamous. What you did with the rubber chicken a few years ago…” He cackles and continues past me, shaking his head.

What if Hawkins is right?

When I get back to the booth, I slide in next to Brooke. My arm brushes her bare shoulder as I reach for the bottle in the middle of the table.

Empty.

I order another round as our server clears the empty bottle.

Brooke tilts her head. “Are you okay?”

“Epic. Legendary,” I go on with relish.

“Just one for him,” Brooke calls to our server with a frown.

She leans her chin on a hand—a hand with brightly colored nails that blur. “If I knew I was going to carry you out of here, I’d have worn flats.”

“Not going to happen. I’ll carry you, Princess,” I correct over the music after the woman leaves, nudging Brooke’s leg with mine.

Over the back of the booth, I spot Hawkins with two women. One’s pressing herself to his front, the other to his back.

I’m remembering what he said about Brooke. I try not to think about her hooking up with other guys here.

“How does this all-star weekend stack up to the others?” I ask her before I can stop myself. “Because I know you used to come.”

Her gaze is searching. “This one’s pretty damn good. I’m here with you.”

She means it. On some level, I feel her earnestness.

But that level is buried beneath too much alcohol and a raging insecurity that somehow reared its head in the last hour.

Between the bodies pressed together on the dance floor and the ones in the booths, I can’t kick what Hawkins said.

“You were looking for something earlier,” I say.

“I thought I saw someone familiar.”

Someone she would’ve been with tonight if it wasn’t for me?

The waitress brings a fresh drink, and I tip it back.

“Don’t let me get in your way,” I say with a grin as I set the empty glass on the table. It sticks to the surface.

Brooke shifts to face me more fully. Her bare knees brush my thigh, the shiny dress shifting further up her toned legs.

My chest is on fire. My fingers are tingling, and my head feels like cotton.

The expression on her face is all wrong, but I can’t place it before she motions me closer with a finger. I lift a brow, or try—my face is going numb—and lean in until my nose bumps hers.

“Garrett,” Brooke says in my ear. “I’m here with you, okay? Don’t make me question it.”

I’m already buzzing, but I look over at Hawkins. He’s laughing at me.

The next second, I’m out of the booth. I grab the front of his shirt. Warnings from my friend drift into my fuzzy ears.

I want to hit him.

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