Page 18 of My Summer Fling

Brandon is known for getting too drunk, too loud, and too fucking angry.

“You’ve moved on quickly then, haven’t you Millie?” he asks as Noah tries to cover me with his body.

“Like the lady said,” Noah interrupts. “We were just leaving.”

Brandon rolls his eyes and takes a swig of his beer.

“Slut,” he spits.

I’m too shocked to say anything back. I’ve never heard him say anything like that to any girl, let aloneme, the one he had beenkind ofdating for the past couple months. And for him to look at me the way he did …

And oh my Jesus fucking Christ, Noah just punched him.

I punched him.

“You punched him!” Millie exclaims from behind her hand.

“He called you a slut.” It’s enough of an answer for me. Teddy would’ve done it. Any respectable guy would’ve done it. “You don’t disrespect women like that,” I say down to his passed out form.

Tyler shouts something and then I see the security officers walking over. They don’t look like they’re in any rush. If anything, they look pretty put out that they have to move from their posts at all. Brandon is still passed out on the floor, his cheekbone turning an ugly shade of purple already.

What the fuck did Millie see in this guy?

“Hey bud,” the bigger bouncer says. “I’m sure he deserved it—he normally does.”

“Normally?” Millie whispers in shock before he continues.

“But you better get out of here. Gotta look like we’re upholding the integrity of the bar.” They both bend over and scoop Brandon off the floor. “He won’t press charges.”

“Never does,” the other guy remarks as they walk off.

I take Millie’s arm and pull her through the door. I’m so angry that I see red. How could she have ever given him the time of day let alone her body? And the way he looked at her and spoke to her…

If I was a cartoon, there would be smoke coming out of my ears right now.

“You’re crushing my arm, Hulk,” she half jokes as she stumbles behind me. I let go and whip around on her. Her eyes widen and she halts in her place.

“What the fuck were youthinking?”

“Excuse me?!” she shouts as I start to walk away and back to her house. It’s only half a mile down the road, and at the rate my anger is carrying me, I’m going to make it there in four minutes flat. “Hey!”

She runs, trying to catch up with me until she finally gives up, and I feel her start to drop behind me. We walk like that in silence, her jogging to shorten the distance behind me every once in a while until we’re almost back at her place. When I can just make the turn into her driveway, she starts up again.

“God, things never fucking change! Do they, Noah!” she yells. “Always causing a scene, making a fucking mess, and then running away and leaving others to pick up the fucking pieces!”

I turn on my heel, stomping back to her until I’m right on top of her, breathing heavily as I look down into her eyes. Fuck, she’s angry. And that shit turns me on. My little spitfire. But I’m angry, too. So I don’t stop. Instead, I decide to push her closer to the edge, testing her limits.

“I’m not the one that let a piece of shit into their bed,” I growl out.

“Not the first time.”

We’re both quiet as that little nugget of built-up anger and regret sits between us.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask her even though I already know. I know she’s talking about me. I know I hurt her. And she’s clearly been holding on to that hurt for a long time.

“Oh, I think you know what it means, Noah,” she spits out before shoving me out of her way and walking past me and down her driveway. I catch up with her easily as she walks around the side of the house and up the front porch.

The swing still sits there broken, half hanging and half resting on the wooden porch floor. I make a mental note to fix that for her tomorrow.

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