Page 18 of Consume Me

I don’t stop until I feel eyes on me, stumbling when I realize it’s his gaze.

I flip him the bird for interrupting my moment. Turning my back to him, I let the rhythm lead me. A body presses into my back. I don’t care who he is. The guy sways me to the rhythm. He’s a good dancer, but when he opens his mouth, I shush him with a finger on his lips.

We dance until he realizes nothing more will happen. One of these days, I will give in and just get it over with, but it won’t happen tonight.

My throat is dry after dancing for so long. Blake and Tyson are at the bar, watching me, and I move toward them.

Keep your cool. Show him he doesn’t affect you.

“Another few broken hearts tonight?” Tyson asks, and I chuckle.

“Haven’t found the one.”

Tyson pulls me to him. “You tease.”

“Look who’s talking?”

Someone in the crowd calls for Tyson, and he excuses himself.

“I see you’ve made a home of my home,” Blake says so low that chills wrap around me. He gets in my face, gripping my chin. His presence steals the air from my lungs, and a stuttering breath falls from my mouth. I grip the edge of the bar in a feeble attempt to get myself under control.

“You have a problem with that?”

“I don’t know yet,” he says, but I can sense his displeasure. “I see you’re looking for a hookup.”

“A girl has needs…”

His jaw clenches so hard it sharpens his features, making him appear lethal.

“Enjoy the rest of the night,” I say, sashaying away. I hope he’s staring at my ass. I hope he sees what he’ll never have.

With every second that her body undulates against that guy, I am losing my shit, itching to snap his neck. My blood boils, and my vision dots with sheer rage. I inhale deeply, trying to get a grip on my composure. Curling and uncurling my hands at my sides, I am about to march over there––to do what, exactly? She’s notmine. I have no claim on her. I left because I am not worthy of her, yet I doubt the asshole grinding against her is either. No one could ever be worthy of her.

When Tyson comes back, he looks at me, chuckling. “Problem, champ?”

“If anyone dares to approach her, he has to come through me first.”

“Are you calling dibs? Then claim her for yourself,” he taunts, stepping closer.

I get in his face. “Did I make myself clear?”

“Fine, are you going to get in the ring again?”

“Yes, with anyone stupid enough to touch her. Take care of her,” I say and leave.

It’s not good that she can rattle my walls so easily. My insides shatter. I’ve been gone for two fucking months, but I guess I wasn’t that hard to get over.

Once at the house, I slam the front door shut, the hinges jolt. Silence bathes the house. Good. I have no fucking desire to talk to anyone. But I am not tired—when the fuck am I? It’s a damn wonder if I sleep three hours a night.

Taking the stairs to the basement, I close myself in the gym with a single-minded focus.

Standing before the punching bag, I hit it relentlessly until my knuckles swell. The image of Mia with that guy sticks in my mind, like a horror movie on repeat, making me want to kill him for touching what’s mine.

The door opens slightly, and Abigail comes inside. Sighing, I ready myself for another confrontation.

“What has you so riled up?” she asks, approaching me with a towel and water bottle.

I arch a brow at them, not understanding her motives.

---