Page 73 of Butterfly Effect

I need everyone to leave right now so I can apologize. She can hate me later.

“Everyone good with taking their cake to-go?”

Skylar confirms, and the catering staff shove gift bags of cupcakes into their hands as they exit.

Which means Gabe Finch and I are finally alone.

In a fumbling blur, before the sorry can form, her hand traps my throat with the same exciting pleasure as the first time that one New Year’s Eve.

I was overconfident—no, downright cocky—in thinking that my usual charms could wipe Gabe Finch’s frown away. Landon and Indi warned me to stay away. But what did they know? I’d been trying to give her my condolences all season, but she wouldn’t even look at me unless there was a mic in my face.

Ready to bury the ax once and for all, I approached her at the packed club with a drink.

“How’s it going?”

She stared into the bottom of her nearly empty glass. “Fan-tastic.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean?—”

“Respectfully,” Gabe said flatly, cocking her head. “Fuck off.”

“Wait, what’d I do?”

Her head shook. “Just go away.”

The vodka tonic I’d downed set itself in motion. “Ohhhhhhh, I get it. You’re still mad because I caught your shitty ex cheating.”

Those hazel eyes ignited with pure hatred. “Get. Fucked.”

At least her angst had disappeared. Mission accomplished. I couldn’t help myself.

“Is that what you want from me? I’m all too willing?—”

The next words are strangled. She’d gotten to her feet and grabbed me by the neck. In two strong strides, the back of my head hit the nearest wall.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to sleep with you.”

“We—wouldn’t be—sleeping very much. At least—not ‘til after…”

Her grip tightened, crushing my windpipe. I clucked with a choke, and the loss of air doubled my dick.

She’d unlocked something feral, something that made me follow her to the rooftop that night like a madman. It seemed I’d done the same for her because when I got up there, she fucking kissed me. She. Kissed. Me.

How am I supposed to free myself of her now? She can do whatever she wants to me. If she says, “Jump,” I’ll ask, “How high?” If she says, “Down,” I’ll kiss her feet, then lie back to let her ride my face into the floorboards. I can follow directions. Maybe she’ll call me a good boy again.

“You’reinfuriating,” she says through her teeth. “It’s making me feel really out of control. New rule, Pretty Boy.” Intense demand bores from her eyes. “We’re gonna fuck.”

Oh.

Beyond broken, my brain short-circuits and crackles with confusion. Probably from the lack of oxygen. I wrap a hand around her wrist and push, garnering some relief. “I knew you liked me.”

The hold goes lax, her jaw skewing to the right. “We don’t have to like each other to fuck.”

“Who said I don’t like you?”

Rings of hazel diminish from her widened pupils as my grip glides up her arm. “You don’t.”

I softly karate chop the pit of her elbow to unlock the limb and step in her direction, regaining control. Or the facade of it.

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