Page 17 of The Hearts We Fumble
I take a slow sip of my drink, pretending I’m not two seconds away from dragging her away from him.
“Nope. Just checking in. Making sure you weren’t about to do something reckless.”
Her lips part, eyes flashing like she can’t believe I had just said that. Then she laughs, sharp and mocking.
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”
I shrug, shifting my weight like I’m totally unaffected. Like I’m not imagining closing the space between us and pulling her away from him—just because I can.
“Hey, you were the one talking about making bad decisions earlier.”
“True.” She tilts her head, gaze locked on mine. “Yet somehow, you always seem to be the worst one.”
Knox coughs like he knows he shouldn’t be here for this. He mutters something about grabbing another drink and disappears into the crowd.
Neither of us acknowledges it.
I take a step closer.
So does she.
Neither of us is willing to back down. I lower my voice just enough so only she can hear.
“Then why do you keep making it?”
For a split second, something flickers in her eyes. She tenses, her breath catching—just for a moment. But just as fast, she shakes her head, like she’s shaking me off. Like I’m something she can just ignore.
When she speaks, her voice is flat. Emotionless.
“Enjoy the party, Zane.”
And then she’s gone, slipping into the crowd before I can say something I’ll regret.
Too bad I already regret letting her walk away.
I should let it go. I should turn around, find someone else to talk to, pour another drink, and pretend she’s just another face at this party.
But I don’t.
Instead, my eyes track her across the field, locking onto the way she moves, the way she tilts her head back, laughing at something Tate says, the way she looks like she doesn’t have a single thought about me in her head.
It pisses me off.
I toss back the rest of my drink, drowning whatever this feeling is in another. And then another.
Before I know it, I’m leaning against one of the pavilion pillars, letting some girl I don’t care about press against me, her giggle cutting through the haze of alcohol and frustration.
She smells like vanilla and cheap liquor, but the only thing I can think about is how she doesn’t smell like Wyatt.
I close my eyes, exhaling hard. This is stupid. I’m being stupid. But I let it happen anyway. Because if I can’t have the one person I actually want, I might as well make a bad decision and pretend it doesn’t matter.
The laugh is fake. The hands on me are all wrong. I don’t know this girl’s name and don’t care to learn it. She’s talking, her voice sugary sweet in my ear, fingers sliding down my arm like she has any idea what she’s doing. I should be into it.
I should be focused on the girl in front of me.
I should be paying attention to the way she leans in, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along my arm, the way her laugh is just loud enough to make sure everyone hears it.
But I don’t. Because I see her.
