Page 47 of Jig's Last Dance

“Hey, hey,” he says, running his hand down my back.

“It’s fine,” I say stiffly, pulling away and grabbing a napkin to wipe my nose.

Jig frowns, assessing me before he says, “Who hurt you?”

“Jig—”

“Alice, you’ll tell me now, or you’ll fucking regret it.”

Scoffing, I raise my chin. “You’re threatening me over a bruise? Isn’t that a little hypocritical?”

He looks away, his jaw ticking before I watch him transform. Like a fucking magic show, he pulls a curtain over his emotions, replacing the frustrated gleam in his eyes with a pretty smile. And I cringe when he chuckles, saying, “Whatever. There’s a party tonight. Let’s go.”

My stomach somersaults, but his weird-ass moods aren’t my business. I need to extricate myself from the mess I’m in and nothing more.

“I’m tired, Jig,” I mumble, rubbing my brow.

I slept under a bridge with a host of other shady people, which means I didn’t actually rest. Plus, I’m still in my dirty clothes.

“Yep, c’mon.”

“Jig—”

He grabs my arm and pulls me from the booth. Wearily I stand, going rigid when his lip curls and he sniffs my hair. “When’s the last time you showered?”

Wrenching away, I hide my mortification under a haughty scowl, glaring at him as his laughter follows me out the door.

Once we’re in his SUV, I lean my head against the window. I don’t know if Castinetti is expecting me back or if the Marco shit was a message. My only other choice is the bridge, which means maybe the party is for the best—if I can last without clawing Jig’s eyes out anyway.

To top it off, I’m hungry. All I had was coffee before Jig arrived.

At the thought of food, my stomach growls noisily, and I sink in my seat, ignoring Jig’s amused stare.

“Hungry, sunshine?”

His teasing lilt creates butterflies that whoosh in my stomach, and shaking my head, I say, “No.”

“Stubborn,” he says with a frown, and I glance at him sideways but refrain from commenting.

Thankfully he leaves me be, and I doze against the window until we slow, and he pulls into a popular fast-food restaurant.

Shit. Now, I’m caught between being the stubborn idiot he’s accused me of and the hunger eating a hole in my belly.

He doesn’t ask me if I want anything, though, and I sink in my seat when he finishes his order and pulls around.

With a sour smile, I watch him pay and close my eyes when he exits back onto the road.

“Here,” he says gruffly.

He hands me a burger, and silently I take it, biting into the juicy meat before saying quietly, “Thanks.”

A grunt is his answer, and we’re silent as we eat our food. I scarf down the burger and turn to the fries, my belly no longer rumbling when we pull into his long-ass drive.

Although this was a pleasant interlude, I brace for what’s coming next because I’m not his friend, and he’s going to turn into the Jig I hate as soon as his friends are around.

It’s for the best because I can’t afford to get complacent, but my heart trips in my chest anyway. It would be nice to relax with someone who has my back. Too bad I’m on this highway to hell alone.

Taking a mental breath, I follow Jig into the mansion and up the stairs. He stops off in his room and says, “You can shower.”

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