But instead, I shake my head. “No. Let’s get a drink.”
She doesn’t push. Just leads the way, slipping through the crowd. I follow close behind, my eyes fixed on anything but him.
We make it to the bar, and Aurora slides right into a stool, ordering us a drink. I wrap my fingers around the glass, when the bartender places it in front of us, and take a long sip.
The burn helps. Sort of.
I steal a glance, even though everything in my body tells me not to, and the moment I turn my head, I see Ryan watching me.
His smirk widens a little, and my stomach dips like an idiot.
I should look away. Pretend I wasn’t watching him with five girls all over him. Pretend I don’t care.
But I don’t. I keep looking at him.
He says something to the girl in front of him. She says something back, flashing a smile at him, but his attention isn’t on her anymore. It’s on me.
My heart kicks into overdrive as he walks toward me, pushing past people before he stops in front of me.
His eyes scan my face, his expression faltering when I don’t say anything. “You’re quiet.”
I lift a shoulder, shifting my weight. “Not much to say.”
It’s a lie. I havetoomuch to say. All of it stuck in my throat.
Ryan doesn’t respond right away. He just watches me, his head tilting slightly.
I spin around, but before I can, his fingers slide into mine.
“Ryan—”
“Come with me.” His hand tightens slightly around mine, but he doesn’t tug, just waits—giving me the choice.
I pause, my heart hammering in my chest with every second his eyes are on me. I should say no. But my feet are already moving.
He weaves us through the crowd. The music fades as we move toward the back, neon lights flickering overhead, casting him in blue and red and gold.
And then he pulls us into a bathroom and shuts the door behind us.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. The only sound is the dull bass bleeding through the walls and the buzzing in my ears.
Ryan drops my hand and turns to lean back against the sink.
I cross my arms over my chest. I don’t look at the way his sleeves are pushed up, revealing the kind of forearms that should be illegal. I don’t look at the way his jeans sit just right on his hips.
I don’t.
Except I do.
And when I meet his eyes again, I know he noticed.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, keeping his eyes on me.
“Nothing,” I reply, avoiding my gaze. Because if I keep looking at him—at those stupid eyes, and that even stupider jawline—I’ll forget that I’m mad.
I’m supposed to be walking away, not letting him back me into a dimly lit room like I’m his. Like we’re something.
Ryan lets out a slow breath and rakes a hand through his hair. “C’mon, Bels. Tell me why you’re not looking at me.”
