Page 122 of Making Choices

“Yeah.”

Feeling about two inches tall, I undo my man-bun, rake my fingers through my hair, then refasten the knot at the top of my head. As everyone in Club Mirage watches me like I’m a ticking timebomb, the queen of bomb defusal approaches me with a timid step.

“Are you okay?” Cherub asks her twin.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She slips her hand into mine, glancing at her brother, then back at me. “Do I even want to know?”

“Just a little disagreement about time,” Sander tells her as he shoots me a quelling look. Unsure why he’s covering for me, I brace for the other shoe to drop. Instead of elaborating on his statement, Sander slings his arm over Cub’s shoulders and leans heavily on his best friend. “We’re gonna head home. Anyone who wants a ride needs to meet us at the back entrance… Cub’s deso tonight and he’s happy to do the rounds with the van if need be.”

At the mention of his status as designated sober driver for the evening, my Tech Officer finally locks eyes with me. In his gaze, I find a level of censure I’ve never had levelled at me by him before.

“Do you two need a ride home?” Cub asks.

“No.” I bark.

He blinks and the look disappears, but I know what I saw.

Cub’s worried about me being alone with Cherub.

As much as everyone in the Shamrocks is aware of Venom’s ability to go dark, I’ve never once seen any of them view him with the kind of grim assessment both Cub and Sander have turned on me. It’s been clear from day dot that Venom isn’t a danger to Cherub. He’d literally chew his own arm off before he ever laid a hand on her.

Apparently, my behaviour doesn’t fill them with the same belief.

“I can drop ’em home,” Toker offers when I remain mute. “Brought the other van just in case.”

“Thank you.”

He waves away Cherub’s gratitude. “Gotta make sure you’re safe.”

If I felt two inches tall beforehand, I’m now the size of a recently hatched flea.

A quick glance down at the woman clutching my hand with both of hers makes me wish the floor would swallow me up. In Cherub’s cerulean gaze, I see ghosts of her past. Every time she’s been required to step into the line of fire to calm down her ex-fiancé sits at the forefront of her mind. Even her posture shows that my brain snap has reopened those wounds.

For a man who prides himself on having a saviour complex, I’ve fucked up big time.

I judge Venom for his lack of control and his selfishness.

Yet I’ve proven that I’m no better when it comes to my duchess.

Possessive.

Impatient.

I’m a ball of resentment and longing.

It’s not a good look.

“We’d appreciate a lift,” I tell Toker. “Should’ve headed to bed hours ago.”

His green eyes search my face for a long moment. The ambivalence in his expression deepens as he observes me. I clear my throat, ready to defend myself, but he speaks first. “Sounds like a plan. Seems like we could all benefit from a good night’s sleep.” There’s a weariness etched in his features that I don’t think entirely relates to my cave man antics. “Let’s head out.”

The first half of the drive back to my place is made in silence.

After offering us a joint, which we both eagerly accept, Toker drums his fingers on the steering wheel of the Shamrocks’ van to the beat of the music on the radio. Cherub tokes up, passes me the smouldering remnants, then promptly climbs into my lap and falls asleep. Feeling guilty for destroying her high, I hold her close, chin resting on the top of her head, as I finish the joint.

After I’ve stubbed it out in the ashtray, Toker sniffs.

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