His voice finds my ear. “Becca, we’ve got a problem.”
I immediately pull out of Austin’s grasp and turn, the worst-case scenario running through my head.
Brady’s here. Somehow, Brady’s here.
But Keanu wouldn’t be here, grabbing me. He would’ve already had his fist in Brady’s face. And for obvious reasons, it’s not him. Brady’s behind bars for the next sixteen years, far from me.
“What is it?” I whisper to him.
His eyes are behind me. “Your friend from the elevator is here, and he’s wasted.”
My friend from the ele—
Oh my God.
“Where is he?” I demand.
“Currently searching the room for you, I imagine. Max is making his way over to him, and he’s going to try to calmly escort him out,” Keanu says.
But I hear the note of concern in his voice. Max is a big guy, perfectly capable of handling himself.
But Callum is stronger, and when he has his eyes on a target, almost nothing can stand in his way. And right now, Max is standing between him and I.
“Keanu, where exactly is he?” I slowly turn around and begin looking for him.
Keanu slides his hand in front of my eyeline, and I see him. My feet are moving before I know it, heading right to this problem.
Anger is boiling under my surface as I approach his back. This is not the time or place for him to show up, drunk off his ass.
“Callum.” I say his name, demanding him to turn to me with one word.
He spins on his heels, swaying slightly, and drunk or not, his eyes find mine immediately.
His lips are twisted with desire as my name pours from his lips. “Becca.”
My hands fall to my hips. “What are you doing here? You weren’t invited. This is a private event. You need to leave.”
I feel Keanu’s and Max’s presence before I hear Keanu clear his throat. But there’s a third presence. And—
Oh shit, I forgot all about Austin.
Callum scans Austin head to toe, clearly sizing him up. “And who might this be, Becca?”
Suddenly, my hands are on Callum’s chest.
Holy hell, that got bigger and firmer since the last time I touched him.
And I push him back as he slowly tries to inch closer to Austin, my hands sliding down to his—holy Jesus—rock-hard abs.
Don’t you dare imagine what he would look like without this shirt.Shit, am I drooling?
“This is my date, Austin,” I say to Callum, clear as day, voice void of emotion.
His eyes shoot down to mine, and from the amount of alcohol I can smell on him, I know that he has no walls blocking his feelings, just pure, unadulteratedhurt.
Fuck. My chest burns.
My hands soften on his torso. “You need to leave, Callum. Please.”
