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“What the hell were you thinking?” Zane rants at me, walking up and down the tiny space of his booth. Which basically means he takes two steps and turns, takes two steps and turns.
Driving me up the wall. “Z-man…”
“Now listen to me, fucker.” He stops, sucks on the barbell in his tongue. “I thought you were serious about Amber, but I told you how I felt about you toying with her.”
“I’m not toying with her. I am serious. Jesus.”
“Shoving your tongue down Cassie’s throat isn’t showing me you’re serious.”
“I didn’t—”
He backs me up against the counter. “Don’t give me this shit.”
> “Back off.”
He doesn’t. He’s glowering at me, a flush going up his neck.
Goddammit. Way too close. He’s crowding me. He’s got a few inches on me, and with the Mohawk he looms over me. I shove him back, my breath short. “Stay the fuck out of my face.”
He stumbles, caught by surprise. “What the hell, man?”
“Stay away from me. Just… stay the fuck away.”
I lean back on the counter, cross my arms across my chest and try to pretend my heart isn’t pounding in my ears and that cold sweat isn’t running down my face.
Damn. I thought I was over that evening when I got my scars. I mean, come on, I wasn’t even a kid. It was only a couple of years ago. I thought it hadn’t affected me, hadn’t scarred anything more than my arm, but in moments like this, or when Gage cornered me in the kitchen, I realize it has. It’s carved deep into my mind.
Zane is still, one hand gripping the back of his neck, watching me like a hawk.
Boom, boom, boom. My heart is hammering, knifing through my chest.
“Sit down, fucker,” Zane finally says, grabs my arm and drags me to his work stool. I let him, mostly because my legs feel weirdly weak. Then he sticks his head out of the booth and roars, “Tyler! Get your butt in here.”
Great. I scowl and brace for round two of whack-a-Jesse.
“What’s up?” Tyler walks inside, and damn, that’s too many men and too much testosterone for a booth. Maybe I can escape outside long enough to draw a real breath.
But Tyler decides to stay in the entrance, blocking it.
Figures.
My breath whistles in my chest. I scratch at the scars on my arm. Need to get out, dammit.
“Man, I told you.” My voice echoes in my ears. “I didn’t kiss Cassie. Don’t know what else to say.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Tyler says. “Admittedly, this one was fucking stupid, but—” He takes a step forward. “You okay, J?”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I whisper, because I need to say it. “I didn’t do it.” My hands are shaking like an old man’s.
He says nothing for a moment. Then, “Have you ever been attacked?”
I flinch, my heart racing away. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Why are you rubbing your arm?” Tyler sits on the counter next to me, crosses his legs at the ankles. “How did you get those scars?”
Zane leans on the counter across from me, giving me an illusion of space. It’s almost working.
