Page 15 of Cross the Line
‘It’s fine,’ I grit out, even though it’s not. But I know better than to make a scene. If I do, it’ll end up in the media. And that means I have to get him out of here before I do something unwise, like bruise my hand as I break his nose. ‘Enjoy the rest of your night, man.’
After a few more seconds of open-mouthed staring, he finally stumbles off. Willow hasn’t stopped poking my back since I pulled her behind me, so with a deep breath, I turn around to face her.
I dive in before she has a chance to give me hell, because there’s no way she won’t. ‘Before you yell at me’ – I hold up both hands – ‘I know it’s not fine, and if I didn’t have to be careful about getting caught doing stupid stuff, I would have beat that motherfucker’s face in.’
But instead of verbally handing my ass to me, Willow grins. ‘Actually,’ she says, deep dimples popping in her cheeks, ‘I was going to say thank you, but I guess that’s good to know.’
I blink. Once, again, two more times. I’m too wasted to process the answer. ‘You’re . . . not mad?’ There’s no way she’s not mad. She has to be mad. Doesn’t she hate when other people fight her battles for her? Has the real Willow been abducted by aliens and replaced with this mysterious, understanding angel?
She giggles. ‘Nah, not mad.’
It’s only then that I realize how close we’re standing. We’re practically chest to chest. The scent of her perfume surrounds me. If I wasn’t already drunk, it would be intoxicating.
‘That guy wasn’t gonna leave me alone, no matter what. And, like, honestly? What you did was kinda hot.’ A silent beat passes, and then she presses her hand against her mouth, like she’s trying to shove the secret back in.
I’ve heard it, though. And so has my dick, apparently, because it’s twitching behind my zipper, just like it did when I first saw her tonight.
She’s wearing the world’s tiniest dress, a curve-hugging thing that leaves just enough to the imagination to be legal. It’s black and slinky and ties around her neck in a pretty little bow that’s been begging all night to be tugged open. Oakley tried to make her go back to the hotel and change. He even looked at me for backup, but I kept my mouth shut and turned to the rest of our friends instead. How could I say anything when I was already envisioning what it would look like on my floor?
Willow’s a beautiful girl, I can admit that. I can also admit that I’ve thought it for a long time.
But neither of those details matter because she’s off-limits. Always has been. And the only boundaries I push are in a race car. Doesn’t mean I’m not tempted, though.
‘Oh, crap,’ she says between more uncontrolled giggles. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not trying to make things weird, I swear.’
I shake my head, mostly to clear away the thoughts I shouldn’t be having. ‘No, you’re good. Happy to play the fake boyfriend any time you need me to.’ I might even be happy to play a real one.
Still laughing, she tilts her head back so it rests against the wall, her corkscrew curls falling around her bare shoulders. Yeah, she’s drunk, and so am I, because all I can think is how pretty she looks under these shitty fluorescent lights.
‘God, I’m glad you never told me anything like that years ago,’ she murmurs, eyes swinging toward the ceiling.
My brow furrows at her throwaway comment. ‘Why?’
She shakes her head, still not looking in my direction, wanting to let it slide.
‘Seriously, tell me,’ I press. ‘Did I do something wrong back then?’
It’s only then that she lifts her head to lock eyes with me. Hers are so dark I can practically see myself reflected in them. But there’s a sliver, a quarter of her right iris, that’s melted caramel. It’s golden and deep. Some might call it an imperfection, an abnormality, but it’s just . . . Willow.
‘You don’t know?’ she asks.
‘Know what?’
And then she makes a confession that changes the course of the evening. Maybe even my life. ‘That I had a huge crush on you.’
The world around me spins, and I can’t completely blame it on the seven tequila shots I downed tonight. ‘You did?’
‘Yeah, but that’s, like,sofar in the past,’ she brushes off, waving a hand and nearly smacking herself in the face. ‘Like a kid thing. It’s nothing. I really thought you knew.’ She giggles again, so sweet and so innocent. ‘I was so embarrassingly obvious.’
‘I didn’t know,’ I say, but I’m already analysing every interaction she and I have ever had. What the hell did I miss?Howdid I miss it? And if I hadn’t, would things be different now? ‘Why didn’t you – why didn’t you tell me?’
She scoffs, but her lopsided grin remains. ‘It was a stupid teenage crush. Not like you were ever interested. And then Jeremy asked me out, so . . .’
Jeremy. FuckingJeremy. The human embodiment of a piece of shit. A cheater, a liar and an all-around terrible person. It kills me that we considered him a friend for so long, all because we grew up together. The warning signs were always there, and yet we just . . . ignored them. Put blinders on. Told ourselves that the jokes, the borderline misogynistic comments and the way he talked to girls was fine – that it didn’t mean anything. He was a good guy. We all were.
Except none of us were, because we sheltered him from the consequences. We took him at his word when he swore the girls he dated and broke up with were psychotic bitches who expected too much of him. We defended him when he was accused of cheating. Clearly, the girl didn’t understand the meaning of casual. We even laughed along when he told us outrageous stories of the things these obsessive stalkers would do to get his attention.
When he started dating Willow, everyone was fine with it, even Oakley. They were both in college in New York, Jeremy a senior and Willow a freshman. It was perfect, honestly. He could look out for her, be a familiar face in the chaos of a new city. We even teased them that it was fate. That they were meant to end up together.
