Page 7 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

I can’t believe Selina dragged me to this fucking place. I stick out like a sore thumb, and the only reason the bouncer let me in dressed in my tattered jeans and combat boots is because Selina works bottle service here on the weekends.

When I asked her why on earth she’d want to go out to the club she works at on her day off, she looked at me as if I were insane. I guess I don’t understand the service industry since it seemed obvious to her. She never did give me an answer. Not that I really cared in the first place.

Selina and I met a few months back when I worked a construction job near her condo complex.

She’d walk by the site almost daily and stare at me as she passed by.

It took me a while to realize she might be into me—around the same time she walked straight up to me when I was on my lunch break and gave me her number.

My work crew gave me shit for weeks after that. I almost threw her number away out of spite. Told myself I wasn’t looking for any distractions, but I did text her eventually. Out of boredom, mostly. We’ve been hooking up for a little over two months now. We both agreed it was nothing serious.

Especially because I only got off probation back in October. I still walk around with paranoia clinging to me like cellophane; one wrong move and I’m back in prison for another five years—or worse, for life.

I haven’t gone out drinking much either.

But the thirst to just fuck it all to hell and drink until I black out is particularly strong tonight.

When I first spotted Connie strutting up to her table, I thought I had plucked her straight out of my overactive imagination. But then I realized even my imagination couldn’t have conjured her up looking this good, with her tight black pants and a top that clung to her perfect tits.

I knew it was her birthday today. She wasn’t very subtle about it online.

Twenty-nine … and way out of my league.

The thought makes me bitter. Angry and pissed off with myself to even think I’d have a chance with her when she’s done nothing but pretend I don’t exist.

I was a big, fat mistake .

Story of my fucking life.

And who gives a shit anyway?

I barely know the girl. She can fuck right off for all I care.

Doesn’t prevent me from spending the night tracking her movements from the corner of my eye, though. Selina is near the bar dancing with some friends. I’m sitting alone at our booth, stewing and drinking a watered-down rum and coke I made ages ago from the bottle at our table.

I should leave.

I should stop staring at Connie.

I do neither.

Looks like she came here with friends but has been flirting with anything that moves since we locked eyes a few hours ago. She hasn’t glanced my way since. Now, she’s dancing near the DJ booth, a gaggle of losers around her as if she’s the star of the fucking show or something.

I swipe my hand over the bottom half of my face, groaning under my breath. Finally having had enough, I leave the table and walk up to where Selina’s dancing.

“I’m out of here,” I say into her ear so she can hear me.

“What? Why?” she shouts back over the music, followed by a sexy pout. I can tell she’s high and definitely not following me out of the club.

I make a face that sort of explains that I’m just not feeling it anymore.

She winds her arms around my waist and pushes her body against mine. Giving me a sultry look, she asks, “Can I still come over later?”

I consider saying no; the idea of having someone in my bed tonight feels suffocating, but I swear I can physically feel Connie on me. I need to get her out of my system.

“Sure,” I say before giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “Call me when you’re downstairs.”

I turn around and head for the door. Unfortunately, I need to pass the DJ booth to reach the exit, and Connie is still acting like the club is named after her.

I weave through a throng of club-goers, resisting the urge to push everyone out of my way. I realize too late that Connie plans to intercept me. Her hand circles around my wrist, and I’m stopped in my tracks.

“Hey, kid,” she says just loud enough for me to hear. She’s visibly drunk, and her guard is down.

A storm of emotions flares inside of me. But the word kid rings in my ear, and I snap.

Anger wins.

I scoff and look at her up and down.

“Aren’t you the star of the show tonight?”

I’m being sarcastic, but Connie is too far up her own ass to notice.

She giggles, eyes hooded with inebriation. “Well, it’s my birthday, after all.”

Her response does nothing to tame my irritation, and I go in for the kill.

“Considering your recent dating history, I should have known you were nothing but an attention whore.”

I say it with venom and right next to her ear, as I rip my wrist out of her grasp. I linger just long enough to watch her face shutter in shock. I flash her a pleased but condescending smile and walk away.

It’s all for show. Nothing about what I just did felt remotely good. By the time I grab my coat and the cold air of early December hits my face, I regret being such a dick. Outside, I pull my pack of smokes out of my pocket and light up before even thinking of hailing a cab. I need to calm down.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

I freeze, my hands still up near my face as I shelter the flame and take my first drag.

Shit.

She followed me out.

I keep the surprise off my face and slowly lift my gaze to meet hers.

She seems pissed but cold, having stormed out here without a coat. Her arms are clasped tightly around her chest while she waits for me to respond, nostrils flared and breathing hard.

“What the fuck is my problem?” I parrot back in disbelief while pointing to my chest. “What the fuck is your problem?” Two fingers now aimed at her.

She scoffs, a small puff of air leaving her glossy lips.

“What did I even do?”

Her question is meant to sound blameless, but she shifts on her feet and looks away. I can tell she’s feeling guilty. I don’t bother answering. I just stare at her and smoke my cigarette.

Finally, she cracks and breaks the silence.

“It was a mistake, okay? I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.” She’s being squirrelly, her eyes barely meeting mine. “You’re Ozzy’s little brother, for god’s sake.”

“I’m twenty-five,” I reply flatly.

I don’t know what it is about telling Connie my age, but it always feels like I’m trying to convince her of something. All it does is make me want to fling myself into traffic.

Her tongue smooths over her teeth behind her pursed lips as if deliberating what to say.

“It meant nothing.” She says it much too softly, as if she’s worried about hurting my feelings. I feel sick at the thought of her thinking I’m that fucking weak.

Her words hang between us while upbeat conversations from other smokers float in the air. We continue to stare at each other for a few rapid heartbeats.

I finally break the spell. Slowly shaking my head, I laugh dryly while flicking my cigarette to the snowy ground. I leave her standing there, not another word spoken between us.