Page 11 of A Summer Thing

Chapter Seven

Jude

I don’t mean to be a dick; it just keeps fucking happening. Maybe if I think it enough times, I’ll eventually believe it. I’m not typically such a grade-A asshole, though. There’s just something about the way this girl makes me feel that scrapes at the surface of a barely healed wound.

It doesn’t help that Parker was testing me, eye-fucking her as she walked into the club tonight and saying something under his breath about taking his shot if I don’t. It pissed me off—irrational or not. And I directed that anger, that frustration, at her. However brief.

I know it isn’t deserved. So instead of continuing down that path, I stood up and walked away.

Parker was just being Parker, amused he could so easily pick at one of the only outward vulnerabilities I’ve ever shown. He wouldn’t actually swoop in like that after I’ve asked him not to. But it doesn’t change the fact that he is interested in her—attracted to her at the very least.

The truth is, none of us should be giving either of these girls a second glance, but Coach had to go and warn us off them, essentially waving a red flag in a damn bullpen.

A stupid move, really. It’s obvious which of us has taken the warning seriously and which of us have taken it with a grain of salt.

Ahem. Boss.

I suppose when you’ve grown up wanting for nothing, you’re bound to view a few rules as nothing but mere suggestions. But again, what Boss and Addy have going on is genuine, so we can’t really fault him for doing so.

I head through the club, restrooms at the end of a dim hallway in my sights. Opening the door to the men’s room, I step inside and find a moment of reprieve from the pounding music that’s been hammering at my eardrums for the past hour.

Exhaustion eats at me all the way down to my bones.

Hell, we’re all exhausted after today. But there’s not much that will keep the guys from going out and having a good time.

And at this point, we all know I can’t help but come along and make sure everyone gets home in one piece.

The former, to everyone’s knowledge; the latter, only to mine.

Even when it’s to my own detriment. Because I’d much rather be back at the Masons’, in my bed and passed the fuck out.

But no matter how much time goes by, I still feel beholden to the promise I made Brenna.

The emotions I wrestled with back then—anger, resentment, guilt—rear their snarling heads when I think twice about following through.

The accident happened almost four years ago, but the memories still haunt me to this day, and I imagine they will until the day I die. You can’t be responsible for someone’s death and not feel the ghost of it haunting you for the rest of your life.

I splash some water on my face, intentionally dragging my mind from those heavy thoughts. Allowing myself to think on it, to dwell on it, isn’t something I do too often anymore. And it isn’t something I want to be doing now, in a bathroom at a fucking club.

I step out of the men’s room and am halted immediately by a slim hand at my chest. Purple polish glinting against soft lighting.

Too bad for whoever this girl is, but I’m not interested.

I peel her hand from my body and resist the urge to toss it out of my hold, setting it down at her side instead.

I’ve no clue what it is about me that gives women the impression they can touch me whenever and however they please, but I have zero qualms with quickly making it clear that isn’t the case.

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again in a silent oh, frown lines marring her otherwise put-together face.

I don’t stick around long enough to watch her pull herself together, my feet carrying me forward and back into the action of the club.

Two more girls attempt to catch my attention with the same fate before I reach the ropes of the VIP.

I sink back down into the same corner of the couch I occupied only minutes ago, pulling my phone from my pocket and paying no mind to anyone else in the club.

______

The sound of Declan’s laughter skips up my spine, and I tighten my grip, fingers clenched around the dark screen of my phone. No matter how intent I am on ignoring her presence, I can’t. And for whatever reason, it’s fucking irritating.

I don’t know what it is about this girl that so easily sets me off. But there is something about her. Something that reminds me of my past, dragging me four years prior into a place I’ve long fought to distance myself from.

If I’m being wholly honest, in some twisted, fucked up way, she reminds me of Brenna.

Not her looks, nor her demeanor, but the weight, the burden, of life that’s settled behind her gaze.

Huh. I push out a biting breath of laughter.

I suppose I do know what it is about her that puts me on edge, then.

It’s either that or the way she looks at me, burrowing deeper with one stare than anyone should have the right to.

Digging my demons from the ground and forcing me to revisit them when I thought I’d permanently buried them.

Tension settles deeper into my body, tightening my muscles.

When the volume of Declan’s laughter rises higher, I clear my throat, shifting my position on the couch. My chest tightens with an emotion just out of reach before it loosens again at the realization that I like the sound of her laughter.

The fuck? The thought darkens my mood further.

Yet despite my will not to, my gaze shifts upward, landing on her from across the roped-off section we occupy, drifting up her long legs and halting at the short hem of her dark and flowy dress.

Laced-up Docs grace her feet unlike every other girl in this club who wears heels as high as they can walk in.

I can admit I like that sort of thing. What I don’t like, however, is the way my attention keeps snagging on her, hooked on thoughts of her, on her conversation with Boss and Addy. And not for the first time tonight.

They’ve been discussing Bloodborne, the game they played at the loft last night, and whether I want to acknowledge it or not, my interest has been piqued—beyond my obvious attraction to her.

She’s intelligent. Witty. Quick with her comebacks.

And she actually knows what the fuck she’s talking about when it comes to gaming.

Her words a steady stream of facts about strategy, skill, up-and-coming players in the community, etcetera.

I’m not surprised. She kicked Boss’s ass without a sweat. But still, it’s impressive.

Her renewed bout of laughter drags my gaze up to her face. A fucking gorgeous face, for the record. I let my stare travel her features, roaming over peaks and shadows I sat only inches from last night.

Deep blue eyes, soft features, and an even softer mouth.

The honesty that poured from mine was unintentional, the need to help her in what small way I felt I could outweighing my usual need to keep my shit bottled up tight.

Still haven’t riddled that one out yet.

Still don’t want to.

That, or the need to push closer, taste her, fucking consume her.

I shake away the thought—and the physical urge rushing through my veins.

Now, under the dim lighting of the club, I can spot the flush in her cheeks, the glassy look in her eyes from how much alcohol her and Addy have tossed back, and it’s a one-eighty from the girl I found on the balcony last night.

Her ease. Her comfortability.

That fucking laugh.

It dances on the edge of my sanity, making a mockery of my will.

I bury my already-building frustration beneath a hard clench of my teeth.

A muscle ticks in my jaw as my grip on my phone tightens.

Promise to Brenna or not, I’m seconds from walking away, from removing myself from this annoying sense of inner fucking turmoil when it comes to this girl, when Addy’s voice clears the short distance of the VIP.

“Why don’t you come over here, Jude? Stop being a moody asshole just because you’re attracted to Declan but won’t do anything about it,” she says, calling me on my shit.

Can’t do anything about it, but I don’t correct her.

Declan’s deep blue eyes meet mine, piercing, and her quick intake of breath is visible from where I sit.

A soft blush washes over her cheeks as my eyes rake over her face, and an intentional, cocky smile pulls at my lips.

Contrary to my shit attitude lately, I don’t mind if she knows I’m attracted to her—as long as she understands I don’t plan on doing anything about it.

“Hey, Mr. Bad and Broody,” Parker jokes, cutting through my line of sight as he parks his foot on the couch beside me, leaning down and resting the weight of his body with his elbow digging into his propped-up knee. “Want to come take a breather with me while I smoke?”

Though I’m not a supporter of his cigarette habit, I easily take him up on the offer, taking the out as I follow on his heels through the club and out the main doors, ignoring Addy’s request altogether.

______

Not fifteen minutes later, the modicum of calm I’ve managed to attain is shoved aside by none other than a fuming Addy. She tears through the club doors, charging into the parking lot.

Boss is quick on her tail. “Addy, baby! Wait up!” he shouts, voice booming.

With an annoyed grunt, I lean back against the brick wall of the club and fold my arms across my chest. It’s not the first time these two have gotten into it, and it won’t be the last.