Page 58 of Silver Fox Puck

I force my gaze away, muttering, "Nothing."

Jake snorts. "Yeah? Tell that to your face. You look like you’re about to murder someone."

I exhale slowly, trying to shove the rage back down. I didn’t even want to come out tonight, but Jake and some of the guys dragged me along, saying I needed to "unwind."

Right.

Unwinding is the last thing happening right now. My eyes drag back to her.

Kenzie looks ridiculously good. Hair loose and wild. A fitted black top showing just enough skin to make my hands twitch. And she’s still smiling at Kingston like he’s the most interesting guy in the goddamn room.

I don’t realize my fingers are digging into the bar until the bartender clears his throat.

"You good, man?"

I force myself to relax. To play it cool. But everything inside me is screaming. Because she’s doing this on purpose. I should look away.

I should just drink my drink, ignore this, and let her play whatever game she thinks she’s winning.

But I can’t. Because she’s pushing me. And the worst part? She’s enjoying it.

Her hand lingers on Kingston’s arm and her body angles toward him in that effortless, flirty way she does.

And Kingston?

He’s eating it up. Leaning closer. Smirking like he’s already won. I take a slow sip of my whiskey, forcing my jaw to stay loose. I won’t give her the reaction she wants.

She wants me to snap? She’ll be waiting all damn night.

But then—

Kingston calls her sweetie, just like he did at the airport.

And she lets him.

No correction. No hesitation.

Just a smirk and that slow, teasing tilt of her head—the one that should be just for me.

Something snaps.

The burn in my chest erupts into something darker. I set my glass down, too carefully.

Jake notices. "Grant—"

"I’ll be right back," I mutter, already moving.

I move slowly, deliberately, like a predator tracking its prey. And Kenzie? She sees me coming. Her smirk deepens. I don’t stop.

Not when Kingston leans back, his smirk widening.

Not when Kenzie takes a slow, calculated sip of her drink, playing the role of the unbothered queen.

Not even when every logical part of me is screaming to turn around and let her win this round.

Because I can’t.

Not when she’s wearing that smirk. Not when I can feel every molecule in my body daring me to claim what’s mine.

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