Page 64 of Mostly Loathing You

We stop questioning it the moment our eyes land on Jackson, who is now pressed flush against his soon-to-be-wife near the far wall.

“Jackson…” Wes and I say in unison as we realize exactly what he did.

Gen’s bachelorette and Jackson’s bachelor party were scheduled for the same night on purpose, but we were intentional in trying to choose places that wouldn’t cause us to cross paths. When Jackson mentioned that he wanted to go to Enigma, I found it random, but not so much that it caused concern.

Now I realize it wasn’t random at all.

Wes is still silently scanning the room and I notice when his eyes land on the radiant redhead only feet away from Gen.

“Go find your wife,” I say with a laugh, waving him in her direction, “I’ll go do…something.”

He doesn’t question me as he steps into the darkness, barreling directly toward Savannah with a grin plastered across his lips.

My eyes lock on Hannah once again, but this time she’s staring back at me. As much as I want to approach her, claim her mouth for the entire world to see, my feet are cemented in place. I wish I could tell what she is thinking right now, but something about the way she turns away from me to move fluidly against a petite girl with purple hair causes my stomach to bottom out.

I’ve never considered myself a jealous man. Typically, I’m pretty even-keeled and neutral, even if someone I’m seeing flirts with someone else. However, the moment Hannah’s lips graze the shell of the girl’s ear before pressing to the flesh of her neck, I see red.

Darting across the room, I latch my fingers around Hannah’s wrist without warning, pulling her away from the embrace of the girl. Within seconds I have her pinned with her face against a wall, desire and anger creating a toxic combination.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I grit out as my lips ghost over the shell of her ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

“Dancing,” she responds breathlessly.

“I don’t appreciate being lied to.” My jaw nearly hurts with how hard I clench it as I force out the words. I yank her head back by a fistful of her hair, her face now a whisper from my own.

At first, she winces, but then she quickly melts into my touch. “It’s not like it matters. Not like we’re together.”

Her breathy response shoots straight to my cock but is quickly tampered by her words.

“We may not have a label for it, princess. But I need to make one thing clear—you’remine.” A whimper leaves her lips as I tighten my hold. “I may not own your heart, but you so much as let another person touch you like that again and you’ll see for the first time just how mean I can actually be.”

I expect her to push me off of her, to yank herself out of my hold, yet when the moment allows her to escape my grasp, she only pushes back into me further. A groan rolls off my tongue as I press into her more, and her breath hitches at my obvious hardness.

“What’s going on over here?” Wes’s confused but clearly amused voice travels from behind us, causing me to yank away from Hannah in an instant.

“Nothing.” I try to catch my breath without being explicitly obvious.

Wes isn’t known to be an idiot, and I’m sure he has a good idea of what was just happening, but I’m thankful he isn’t much for gossip.

“Liam was just being an asshole, per usual.” Hannah pins me with a glare that at first I think is an act, but as her gaze remains hard as stone and Wes’s eyes divert to look at me, I know I must have misstepped in some way.

“For a second I thought you two were…”

“Not a chance in hell, man.” I force a laugh, but Hannah’s glare only intensifies. The anger in her expression is only matched by the obvious hurt in her eyes. I want to reassure her that I only said it because I don’t want it to get ruined, but when I go to close the distance between us the moment Wes walks away, Hannah slips out of my grasp.

“Hannah, I—” I circle her wrist only for her to yank it away instantly.

“Don’t start.” She doesn’t sound angry, she sounds defeated…and that’s honestly worse.

TWENTY-SEVEN

HANNAH

The anxiety stirring in my stomach doesn’t abate as the small alert sound from the Outlook app on my phone dings out. I know exactly what it holds, and it could either be the best thing to happen to me or just another rejection masked as a cast list to add to my list of failures. I can feel the excitement mounting with each second.

When I didn’t receive a phone call last week, I knew it was probably indicative of a rejection, but I’ve been holding out until the cast list goes up.

I open the email to find the cast list entirely void of my name. While I want to say I’m surprised, I’m not in the slightest. There have been auditions where I thought I did amazing and got rejected—those hurt like a bitch—but I knew I tanked this one, so the rejection is just a reminder of my colossal mistake. However, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

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