Page 163 of Homecoming

“A little,” she lied. She’d managed to suppress most of it while she dressed and did her hair, but now her pulse was thumping again.

He took one of her hands, and pulled her in – but not for the heated kiss she’d expected. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and stroked her arms, and rested – well, attempted to rest his forehead against hers. He pressed his to her helmet, instead.

“This usually works better without a helmet.”

She snorted. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll get over it.”

When he drew back, he gave her a soft look. “Ready?”

“Yep.” And, thumping pulse or not, she was.

~*~

Reese still struggled with parties as a concept.

The ones he’d witnessed here at Dartmoor involved less bloodshed than the ones in Denver had – not to mention his sister wasn’t on display in chains, men invited to “look but not touch.” And, no longer a virgin himself, he was beginning to see the appeal it held for most of the Dogs: the opportunity to relax, get drunk, and enjoy the attentions of a beautiful girl – or two, or three. But he wasn’t sure why anyone wanted to enjoy those things in a loud room surrounded by all his friends. And his grasp of conversation was still fragile enough that watching people gather in knots, heads bent in close to talk above the wail of the music, baffled him.

That was all normal.

What wasn’t normal was the frothing of emotion in his belly every time he glanced across the room and spotted Tenny.

The last week had kept both of them busy with unsuccessful searches for Luis Cantrell. When he wasn’t out riding around in groups, walking through warehouses and vacant homes, Fox was pushing him in sparring matches – sparring with him himself, rather than pitting him against Tenny and sitting back, seemingly indifferent. Reese had the sense a storm was coming, and he’d pushed himself, on his runs, in the weight room, on the mats. Fox was quick and expert, full of tricks, but Reese could pin him half the time, and Fox had grinned, pleased, to find that out.

He and Tenny ran together, and trained together, ate most meals together. Tenny would talk, and he would tease, a little, no longer furious – but not himself, either. A tension still lingered. No longer thorny, but dangerous, still, Reese sensed; he could touch it, trace its edges with his fingertips, thought he might, given time, be able to fully map its contours and pin a name to it.

He couldn’t name what he felt tonight, but he had a sense that was because he didn’t want to.

Tenny sat in the corner of the leather sectional, a girl on either side of him, beneath the arms he’d draped along the back of the sofa. Neither were familiar. Both were young, and dark-haired, wearing short, tight dresses and spike heels. The one on Tenny’s left hooked a leg up over Tenny’s knee and turned her body into him, pressing her breasts into his ribs until they threatened to spill out of her dress. The other one laughed, and traced long, red nails down the buttons of his shirt.

Tenny wore one of his masks – Reese recognized it. A smile like a blade, eyes low-lidded, voice dropped low and sultry. It was an act – Reese knew it was an act – but his stomach burned, and his fingers twitched on his glass of vodka, and hehurt, deep in the tissues beneath his breastbone.

He didn’t understand. He didn’twantto feel this way. But.

“You alright?” someone asked beside him.

He turned, tamping down his initial startle response. Carter stood beside him, a drink in each hand: something dark and on the rocks, and a glass of wine. He’d brought Leah tonight; Reese spotted her now over at a table with Ava and Maggie.

“Yes,” he said, automatically. People didn’t usually stick around to find out more once he gave a simple, single-syllable answer. No one really cared, he didn’t sense, save Mercy and Fox. Fox because he didn’t like to see assets squandered, and Mercy because he was – kind. Despite his delight in violence. No one else ever did more than nod and move on.

But Carter frowned at him. And then his gaze shifted – to Tenny, Reese realized with a sick lurch. “Maybe go talk to him,” Carter suggested. And then: “For what it’s worth, I think he’s as miserable as you.” He shrugged and moved off.

Reese looked back to Tenny – and the squirmy, unpleasant feeling in his gut intensified. Tenny was kissing the girl on his right, with the red fingernails. A showy, obscene kiss, with lots of tongue. The other girl palmed his cock through his jeans, and Tenny laughed into the first one’s mouth.

Reese turned away, and drained his glass, shocked at himself. The vodka burned, and tasted terrible. It sent heat spiraling through his stomach, his veins – his head.

He stood a moment, one hand braced on the edge of the bar, just breathing, feeling the warmth suffuse his limbs, and soften the sharp corners of his mind.

When he turned back, Tenny was looking at him. One of the girls had straddled his lap, and was kissing his neck, while his hand swept down low at the small of her back – shifted to her ass, and squeezed. The other girl nibbled at his ear, then tongued it, theatrical and obscene. Tenny’s mouth was hidden behind the first girl’s shoulder, but his gaze was electric; hard, and dark, and pinned on Reese.

He read it as a challenge. A defiance.

Talk to him, Carter had said.

Date, his sister had said – his sister who was seated cozily with Roman now, talking and laughing quietly, content, and taken care of. He couldn’t begin to understand what his sister wanted, what she’d achieved for herself. She loved Roman, and she said he loved her, too, and she was happy with him.

And Reese wanted to throw his empty glass down onto the floor just to watch it shatter.

But Carter had said something else:I think he’s as miserable as you.

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