Page 54 of Intense
“He’s insufferable,” I mutter.
But my thighs are clenched under the table.
And I hate myself for it.
I glance toward the bar. He’s there. Whiskey in hand. Smirking. Watching.
Like he knows.
And maybe he does.
Because the bastard didn’t just win the award.
He made sure I knew I’d lost.
And somehow… somehow that stings more than I’m willing to admit.
I stare off, trying to simmer down the violent urge to commit a felony.
I let out a groan and roll my eyes as Zak approaches me.
He’s really brave.
He leans down, that smug little grin carved into his face.
“I see how it is. You won’t entertain me because you’re too busy fucking your own attending. Classy whore.”
My nostrils flare. I stand, ignoring the gasps around the room, and pull back and slap him across the face.
The sound cracks like lightning.
He grabs his cheek, eyes blazing.
“Come near me again, and I swear I’ll cut your heart out and mail it to your fiancée.”
He laughs and backs away.
“Tell Finn I said good luck. You’re a fucking psycho.”
Fuck him.
And Finn.
Without looking back, I storm out of the room, the doors crashing shut behind me. The lobby’s buzzing with people, but I need space. I need air.
I spot a hallway and dart for it. First door I find, I push open and slip inside.
Of course. A fucking storage closet.
The smell of bleach hits me in the face.
Before I can close the door, a tattooed hand catches it.
“Fuck off,” I spit.
“No.” His deep Irish lilt slinks down my spine.
He shoves the door open, steps inside, and lets it slam behind him. He doesn’t speak. Just stares.
