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“I appreciate your concern, but until I figure out who’s trying to ruin my life, that isn’t happening. . .”

My voice trails off, and we both go silent for several heartbeats, nothing but the sound of our combined breathing in the musty coat closet.

“Kennedy—”

“Why are you here?” I blurt the question that’s nagged me since he walked into the party tonight. “You said you wanted no part in any of this.”

“Believe me, I don’t.”

His voice carries an air of finality, and I assume he’s grown tired of playing bodyguard.

“I get it. I don’t blame you.” Frustration brings tears to my eyes, and I’m thankful for the dark. If I can’t see a damn thing, neither can he.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” I sniff.

Jordan brings his fingers to my cheek and wipes away a stray tear. “Yes, you are.”

“I got dust in my eye.”

He cracks the door, allowing a sliver of light into the closet. “Please don’t cry.”

I lift my eyes to his, and the raw emotion in his gaze knocks the wind out of me. God, I wish he’d kiss me already. “Hey, Jordan?”

“Yeah, princess?”

“You think they’re looking for us?”

“Nah.” He laughs. “Most of them are so drunk I doubt they’ve even noticed we’re gone. But I’d be willing to bet your boyfriend’s gonna be pissed tomorrow.”

“My boyfriend?”

“O’Neil.” He grinds out the name.

“Elijah?”

His stiff nod is the only response I get.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Does he know that?”

“He . . . We haven’t . . .” How can he possibly think I’m interested in Elijah when all I think about is kissing him?

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” His question comes out of left field, taking me completely off guard, as if he’s been eavesdropping on my thoughts again. He doesn’t break eye contact, keeping his hazel gaze locked on me. “In the game. You kissed everyone but me.”

“The, uh, bottle didn’t want me to?”

He chokes out a laugh. “The bottle, huh?”

I shrug.

He relaxes his stance, resting his shoulder against the side wall as he studies my swollen lips. “The bottle certainly liked O’Neil.”

“Well he is a nice guy.”

His eyebrows jump, and our gazes lock. “I’m not a nice guy?”