The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(83)

“Oh my god, stop it,” I cry. I try to run in to break it up, and someone holds me back. People are shuffling in, trying to see. A few people step in to help Christopher, and then some stick up for the other guy.

It gets broken up, and the two men are held back from each other.

Christopher’s eyes find me across the crowd, and I throw up my arms. “What the hell are you doing?”

His nostrils flare. He turns and marches out of the hostel.

What the hell is wrong with him?

He practically runs down the corridor and pushes out the large front doors and down the stairs. He begins to walk off into the darkness up the road as I follow.

“Christopher,” I call.

He ignores me and keeps walking.

“Christopher,” I yell. “Don’t you dare ignore me!”

He stops, his back still to me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting the fuck out of here,” he says, his back still turned.

I catch up and walk around to see his face, and my heart drops. He’s upset.

“What are you doing?” I ask softly.

His eyes hold mine.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I don’t fucking know,” he cries. His eyes are wild, his hair is tousled, and his chest rises and falls as if he’s gasping for air. The adrenaline in his system must be through the roof.

I frown, taken aback. Something’s going on with him. He’s in the middle of another major freak-out.

“It’s okay . . . ,” I say softly.

“Nothing about this is okay, Hayden,” he cries. “I’m going fucking crazy.”

I stare at him, unsure what to say.

“I’ve been frantic all fucking day over you, and now . . .” He throws his arms up in surrender. “I saw him touch you, and . . .” He drags his hands through his hair.

“You got jealous,” I say softly.

“I do not get jealous,” he yells, infuriated.

He’s having some kind of episode here, and I don’t want to throw fuel on the fire.

I need to try to calm him down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone today. I didn’t mean to worry you,” I say.

“That’s the point. I don’t worry. I don’t get jealous, Hayden. I don’t know if I’m up or down or just going fucking crazy,” he cries. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

I stare at him. He really has no idea . . .

“You’re in love with me,” I say softly.

His face falls.

“But that’s okay.” I smile hopefully. “Because I love you too.”

His eyes search mine.

“And now you’ve gone and ruined a very special moment between us.” I put my hands on my hips.

He stares at me, shocked to silence.

“Get your shit together and go back inside and finish your shift,” I demand.

Perspiration beads on his brow. His eyes are crazy, and I’m unsure if he’s about to run. I just need him to calm down and go back and work. If he runs now, it’s all over between us. I’m not going through that shit again.

“This is unacceptable behavior, Christopher. You can’t beat up every man who tries to talk to me. It’s not okay.” I shrug, frustrated. “I’m not a possession. You don’t have the right to act like that.”

“He was asking for it.”

“So be the bigger person and walk away. This isn’t who you are. You’re a lover, not a fighter.”

His eyes hold mine.

“Go and finish your shift. I’m going to bed.”

“You’re not coming back to the party?”

“No. My dickhead boyfriend spoiled my mood.”

He exhales heavily, disappointed in himself.

“Just go.” I point inside, and he turns and trudges back up the stairs.

“You’re really going to bed?” he asks me again.

“Yes,” I snap. I march past him down the corridor to our room as he follows me.

I open the door to our room, and I glance up at him.

“I’ll see you when I finish?” he asks hopefully.

“If you carry on like an idiot and get in one more fight tonight . . . so help me god.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” I march into the room, and he stands tentatively by the door. “And you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” I add.

He nods and then lingers as if waiting for something.

“And I’m not telling you I love you . . . because you’re just an idiot.” I turn down the blankets in a huff.

“I’m not telling you either,” he says.

I smirk, trying to hide my smile, and I know it’s going to be okay. “Good, don’t then.” I climb into bed. “Get out.”

His eyes twinkle with a certain something. “I think you have anger issues,” he says.

“So help me god, Christopher.” I throw a cushion at him. “Get out.” It hits the wall beside his head, and he smiles his first genuine smile.

“Good night, Grumpy.”

“There is nothing good about this night,” I lie.

The door quietly closes, and I smile into the darkness.