Page 27 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

THEO

My muscles groan in protest as I shove the bar’s door open. I’ve been pushing myself too hard lately, but hockey’s the only thing keeping me sane since Blake transferred to LAU. Besides, a small part of me thinks I deserve the grueling torture. Lusting after your best friend’s little sister while knowing it’s a bad idea does that to a person. And fantasizing about kissing them again is even worse.

I adjust the hat on my head and force the thought away, heading into SeaBird. We haven’t spoken since the shower. But I’ve still noticed her. At practice. Surrounded by the team. Laughing. Chatting. Flirting. Being her usual untouchable self. I haven’t heard any rumors involving her with anyone on the team, though. It’s been my only saving grace. Pretty sure if it changes, I’ll lose my damn mind, and I’ve already felt insane enough since she moved here.

No need to fan the flames.

Now, if I could just stop thinking about her when she isn’t around, that’d be great.

I scratch the scruff along my jaw and head toward the bar on the right side of the building. A band is on the stage on the back left side of the establishment. They’re covering a Broken Vows song, and the dance floor in front of them is packed with people. Most of them are classmates or locals around town. The scent of coconut and lime wafts through the air as I order my drink from Sammie, the bartender and owner of SeaBird. A minute later, she sets a tall glass of amber liquid in front of me, and I thank her before searching for Ash and Colt.

They invited me to come out. And because I was driving myself crazy at home and didn’t feel like throwing a party, I agreed to be the third wheel for the evening.

I scan the dance floor and booths lining the side walls for my best friend and his girl, but a different couple grabs my attention. My heels dig into the ground, and I stop short, nearly spilling my beer.

What. The actual. Fuck?

My fingers grip the glass with so much force, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack as I zero in on Colt’s little sister.

Blake is on the dance floor with Burrows. Her lithe body is pressed against his, and she sways back and forth. With a smile, she lifts her half empty glass at the stage, mouthing the lyrics to the song. She owned up to her long, curly red hair in elementary school when Colt and I threatened to beat the hell out of anyone who made fun of her for it. Now, it almost reaches her lower back, and even though it’s usually piled on top of her head in a messy bun, tonight it’s hanging around her shoulders, making her look even more wild and free than usual.

I want to wrap my fingers in it, tug her head back, and drag her to the nearest corner so I can kiss the shit out of her, but I restrain myself…barely. She turns around and faces Burrows, tilting her head up and smiling. Like she’s having the time of her life with him. Standing on her tiptoes, she says something in his ear, then hands him her tumbler and heads down the hall toward the bathroom.

My feet move on their own as if possessed by a jealous asshole as I follow her through the crowd. There’s a line wrapping around the corner leading to the bathrooms. You’d think Sammie would’ve invested in expanding the bathrooms since there’s only two, but she insists it would only create more toilets for her or her employees to clean. I guess she has a point, but it makes using the restroom at SeaBird a bitch.

Oblivious to my presence, Blake takes her place at the end of the line and starts chatting with the guy in front of her as I approach. When the stranger finally gets a glimpse of her, his smile widens, and he turns around to face her completely. Like she has his full attention. The same way she has mine. And Burrows’. And the whole fucking team’s. With his shoulder against the wall, he tilts his head closer to her and says something else, but the music’s too loud for me to hear.

Seriously, does the girl have no boundaries?

I stalk closer as she laughs and shakes her head, still unaware of my presence.

It’s time I change that.

“Hey, Baby Thorne,” I greet her.

She glances over her shoulder at me, does a double-take, then covers her surprise by rolling her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not going to start calling me that.”

“It’s fitting, though,” I remind her. “Where’d you get the fake ID?”

Her eyes widen for a split second, and she starts searching the rest of the bar like the cops are hiding in the shadows. “Will you please keep your voice down, asshole?”

“Just sayin’. How the hell did you get in? Did the bouncer not check––”

She grabs the edge of my leather jacket and drops out of the bathroom line, dragging me further down the hall and into a dark corner where we have a bit more privacy.

Once we’re both hidden in the shadows, and the head-pounding music is more muted, she lets my jacket go and seethes, “What the hell is your problem?”

“No problem. Just curious how you got in.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

She glances around me again, making sure we’re still alone as she hisses, “Yes, as a matter of fact. He most definitely does know I’m here, and he most definitely does not care.” She looks up at me. The heat in her eyes does her fiery personality and redhead stereotypes justice. It also makes my blood rush south, no matter how much I try to fight it.

She’s so fucking…infuriating. But gorgeous too. Like a tornado. Or a storm. A tsunami, maybe.

I squeeze my hands into a ball to keep them in check when all I want to do is reach out, tug her long red hair into my fist, and slam my mouth to hers.

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