Page 52 of Double Standards
I should’ve walked away then and there, called her bluff, burned the bridge and moved the fuck on.
But I didn’t. Because some twisted part of me liked watching her unravel.
She’s fire under pressure—tense, stubborn, sexy as hell when she’s pissed. But I also saw something else flash in her eyes last night when she thought I wasn’t looking. Something raw. Something like...want.
I lean over the sink and grip the edge, my knuckles whitening.
I’ve known a lot of women. None of them have ever gotten under my skin the way she does. None of them ever made me second-guess shit. With Cassie, it’s like walking a tightrope. One second we’re at each other’s throats, the next I’m thinking about what she tastes like when she moans my name.
I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face, the sting jolting me back into the present.
This isn’t about last night. It’s not. It shouldn’t be.
I cling onto that thought as I leave the restrooms, heading back towards the guys when I catch the flicker of red.
I almost don’t look.
Almost.
But something pulls my gaze.
What the fuck is she doing here?
She’s out there, inmyclub, laughing like she doesn’t have a care in the goddamn world.
Her head is tilted back, that golden hair catching the colored lights, and she’s got that open-mouth laugh—the one I’ve only seen a handful of times. And she’s not alone. Some douchebag is leaning in, hand cupping her shoulder like he thinks it belongs there.
Too fucking close.
My blood goes cold. Then hot. Then something in between, something feral.
I step deeper into the shadows, watching from the dark like some predator scoping out a threat.
And that’s exactly what he is.
Cassie’s friend—Lexie, loud-mouthed and protective—swoops in and drags her away before Pretty Boy can press his luck. They vanish into the crowd, swallowed by bass and smoke and moving bodies.
But not from me. I see everything.
Cassie’s on the dance floor now, dress clinging to her like sin.Red. Tight. Fucking illegal. She throws her hands up, her hips rolling to the beat, and her hair swings wild around her shoulders.
“Hey, man!” Hunter calls out, clapping my back. “What’re you doing out here?”
I shift my gaze to Hunter, who’s lounging against the balcony rail, a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he scans the crowd below like a king surveying his kingdom. The soft glow of the lights throws shadows across his jaw, but there’s no mistaking the smug satisfaction on his face. This place, the pulsing crowd, the money flowing like top-shelf whiskey, it’s all part of his empire. And he’s damn proud of it.
“Just came to listen to the music,” I lie, trying to sound casual.
Hunter doesn’t even blink. He shoots me a sideways look, sees right through the bullshit, and smirks knowingly.
“She’s here?” he asks, voice raised above the thrum of bass. It’s not really a question. It’s a statement dressed up like one.
I exhale through my nose, leaning forward against the railing. There’s no point denying it.
Of course, he knows.
Hunter scans the crowd below, his sharp eyes sweeping until they land on her. “Thought she had a boyfriend?” he quizzes, too damn loud for my liking.
The comment makes my jaw clench. I grunt something noncommittal in response and focus my attention back on Cassie.
