Page 15 of Don't Puck Your Best Friend’s Girl

"Damn," I say, unable to hide my disbelief. "What––"

"I don't want to talk to you," she interrupts, each word carved in ice.

Jake shifts his weight, looking between us with growing amusement. "What's going on here?"

"Why don't you ask her?" I suggest, gesturing toward Saylor with my cup.

"I hate him," she states flatly, still refusing to look at me directly. The words land like stones, heavy and immovable.

Something hot flares in my chest –– anger or embarrassment. "What the fuck did I do?" The question explodes from my mouth harshly.

"You already know." Her voice is oddly calm now, which only fuels my frustration.

"I just want to talk." I try to soften my tone, aware of our audience.

Jake's curiosity finally gets the better of him. "How do you guys know each other?" He scratches his face, trying to hide his laugh.

We speak at the same time, our words tangling in the air. "She's Byron's girlfriend," I say, while she counters with, "My ex."

The contradiction hangs between us. We lock eyes, mutual challenge sparking in the space between our bodies.

"Your ex?" The surprise in my voice is genuine. Byron mentioned the official breakup status, but she's quick to flaunt it, and I don't approve of this.

She nods once. Her lips press into a thin line that somehow communicates more than words could.

"Can we get out of here?" Saylor turns to her friends, clearly done with this encounter.

A feeling of annoyance rises in my throat. Byron will kill me if I let her walk away without at least trying to smooth things over. Beyond that, something about her dismissal rubs against a raw spot in my ego. I've never been the type of guy women actively avoid.

Before I can think better of it, my fingers wrap around her upper arm –– not painful, but firm enough that she can't easily shake me off. I know better than to try for her hand, she'd recoil and storm off. I steer her through the crowd, ignoring her protests until we reach a bedroom down the hall.

The door clicks shut behind us, and I turn the lock. The sound seems abnormally loud in the sudden quiet room.

"Are you fucking crazy? I don't want to be in a room with you!" Her voice quivers with outrage.

Under the bedroom's soft lamp light, I can see her properly. Cheeks flushed from alcohol and eyes bright.

"What the hell is your problem, huh?" I demand, my patience exhausted by her childish behavior. The beer in my system stirs.

"Besides the fact that I'm here to get drunk and forget all my problems?" Her laugh lacks any trace of humor. "Let's see, you're a condescending cheating asshole with a head bigger than Mars. I can't fucking stand you. And your best friend, who is now my ex, defends your dumb ass. And all he fucking cares about is playing video games!"

The absurdity of her grievances catches me off guard. "So," I fight back a laugh and fail, "you're pissed that Byron backs me up and plays video games?"

"I'm leaving." She moves toward the door, but I stand my ground, blocking her exit.

"Move," she demands, her face tilted up to mine. From this close, I can smell the sharp tang of vodka on her breath, see the tiny flecks of gold in her brown eyes.

"You're not going anywhere." My voice drops lower, a strange tension settling between us.

"Fuck off!" Suddenly her hands are on my chest, shoving against me. I don't budge, but the contact sends an unexpected jolt through my system.

A chuckle escapes me as I step forward, eliminating the space she tried to create. "Keep your crazy ass hands off of me."

She retreats a step, but her glare remains defiant. "Or what?"

"Or nothing, Saylor. We're not leaving this room until we can have a simple conversation."

She crosses her arms over her chest, which only serves to emphasize the curves beneath.

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