Page 43 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I was just going to say that you seem a bit stressed.”
“Thank you for that unwanted observation.”
I busy myself by looking at the horde of people that seems to have gathered to the left of the pool, all talking at obnoxious volumes of excitement.
Fulton mirrors my line of vision. “Do you want to talk about it?” His voice is small, harmless, unlike his companion’s.Fultonknows when to shut up.Fultondoesn’t push me. Gage, on the other hand, will pick up any stick in the vicinity and poke me.
I bite down so hard on my tongue that I taste blood, traces of iron intermingling with the malty flavor of beer.
“Do you—”
More people split off into the smaller crowd that’s formed. What could be so fucking interesting that it’s captured the five-second attention span of literally every mouth breather at this party?
Some kind of bubblegum pop music greets my ears, contributing to the headache pummeling my brain. My scarlet-tinted vision sways. Fulton’s and Gage’s efforts to calm me are lost when I decide on a whim to storm over and separate the goddamn fire hazard.
I shove my way to the front, fully ready to lose my cool, but the sight of something else halts my personal agenda. The sight of Faye dancing seductively in front of half our hockey team in that pathetic excuse she calls a bikini. Paralytic shock threads through my upper back muscles, and possessiveness washes over me at the unhinged jaws and glossy-eyed stares following her every move. She sways her hips back and forth, her hand trailing sensually up her stomach and over her breast, her wild, mussed hair all over the place.
My first instinct is to get her the fuck out of here. I don’t know where Hayes is, and a part of me is glad he’s not here to witness whatever’s happening. When she goes to twirl around herself, I insert my body into the space, feeling her collide into me. She glances up through her lashes, a dopey smile affixed to her lips.
“Kit! Hi!” She grabs my arm and swings it in tandem with her body.
Fucking Christ. I need to think fast. Every guy on the team is looking at her right now. They shouldn’t be looking her. In fact, they shouldn’t even be breathing the same air as her.
“We’re leaving, Faye,” I tell her, using the hand attached to my arm to try and pull her sideways.
She digs her heels into the ground, resisting me with a lot more strength than I was expecting—which is saying something since my rage has gone from zero to off-the-charts inhumanly fast.
“I’m not done dancing!” she whines, making a very public show of stomping her foot down and throwing a gigantic tantrum.
“Yes, you fucking are,” I growl, the heaven-high flames of my wrath seeming particularly painful as they scorch my chest. “If you’re going to fight me about it, I’ll throw you over my shoulder right now. Is that what you want?”
I’ve abandoned my tireless mission of dragging her away. I stand deathly still, all while watching her use every muscle in her body to try and break free from my grip. Nobody intervenes. My teammates are looking at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind—and I pretty much have.
“You’re not in charge of me!”
Even though my head’s screaming at me, I peel my fingers off her wrist, letting her spring backwards a little from the driving force of her fruitless pulls. And when she thinks she’s home free, I swoop her legs over my shoulder and hold the backs of her thighs, enduring a colorful storm of expletives and the banging of small fists.
“Kit! Put me down!” She kicks her feet and wiggles her ass, making the trek inside the house a lot fucking harder than it has to be. I want to spank her. I almost do, but then I remind myself that my whole hockey team just saw me manhandling Hayes’ little sister like some kind of brainless monster, and the itch in my fingers settles.
Once we’re in the smaller of the downstairs bathrooms, I gently place her back down and lock the door.
She throws her arms up before folding them over her chest. “I can’t believe you just did that! Ugh! I-I-I hate you!”
I wish I could convince myself that she doesn’t mean it, but she definitely does. At least, right at this moment. I don’t want to start a fight with her. I didn’t carry her away on some jealous rampage—maybe a little—but not entirely, okay?
Faye’s never acted like this before. I’m worried about her.
The only self-medication I have right now is breathing. There’s nothing else keeping me from driving my fist through this door. With a loud inhale, I click on the light, hearing the fan clunk to life with its usual, ceaseless hum. Then, and only then, do I sigh.
“I know.”
I tip her chin up so she meets my eyes, which she thankfully doesn’t fight me on. Then emotion careens into me like a bruising slapshot. Those irresistible brown eyes with flecks of gold stare straight into my soul, begging me to forfeit everything I’ve just said to her. Begging me to make her mine again.
But the picture fades, and I notice how dilated her pupils are, how she’s looking at me but seems to be a million miles away. Like she’s on a different planet.
My eyes flare, my jaw clicking with tension. “What did you take?”
