Aflame (Fall Away #4)(31)

I let my eyes trail down her body, and I can almost feel how warm she would be if I touched her.

How nice it would be to have someone in my bed.

I want her to leave, but I don’t want to be alone.

Tate’s smiles float through my mind, and I steel my jaw as the girl approaches, her presence making the hair on my arms stand up.

She looks up at me with a small smile, and I start to grow hard as I think about her open for me on the bed. I can close my eyes and go at her, get lost in the act and let go of my anger and pain and use her like I have so many other women, but . . .

But I never gain anything from it.

Tomorrow, I’ll hate myself and the cheap act, because nothing compares to f*cking someone you love.

Needles prick the back of my throat, and I swallow the lump. “Yeah,” I rasp, looking down at her. “I want you to leave.”

Confusion and a hint of hurt flash through her eyes as she shifts her gaze, probably trying to make sense of why I don’t want her.

I close the shower curtain and finally hear the door open and close, and a wave of relief hits me. For a moment, Tate fades in my head, and every inch of my body feels the gust of a second wind.

I’d let my need for Tate make me do so many bad things in the past and make so many wrong decisions, and I hadn’t realized how much I still lacked control over my own happiness.

She had been everything, and I’d held myself back, acting out and making all the wrong choices, because my head had been so clouded with her—and I’m not doing it anymore.

I get out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and go to bed.

I have a race tomorrow.

A couple of women came and went over the next year and a half, but it was never because I was angry or wanting revenge. I was trying to move on just like Tate had been. I had wanted to go back and fight for her, but not until I was sure I was going to be good for her. And maybe she wouldn’t want me anyway, since she’d moved on. So I let it be.

For a year and a half, I warred between what I wanted and what I thought was right. Either take her back and love her forever, or leave her alone, because all I’ve ever caused her was pain.

But when I came home today and saw her again, that was it. The battle in my head wasn’t there anymore.

She belonged to me. I was built for her.

I looked over, across the dance floor, her table full of our friends and their drinks, while Ben had his lazy hand resting low on her thigh, and I steeled my jaw to prevent the smile.

That touch wasn’t going to do it for her.

Not for her.

Tate wasn’t a slow burn. She liked to be fed on.

Halestorm’s “I Get Off” played over the sound system, and some of our old high school friends sang along on the dance floor. I smiled to myself, remembering how that song always reminded me of her and how we grew up with our windows facing each other. She had a lot of fun taunting me with that window when we were together.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I slid my thumb over the screen to see a text from Jax.

What are you planning to do when she leaves with him tonight?

I locked eyes with my brother across the dance floor as he flashed me a small, all-knowing grin.

Asshole.

My phone buzzed again.

You have no idea, do you?

I dumped my phone on my table and shot him my middle finger. He laughed and looked at Madoc, who shared his amusement.

What was I supposed to do? Drag her to my car by her hair? Yeah, that would win me points.

But he was right. There was no way I could live with her going home with someone else. As much as I’d learned to control my temper, she was a trigger.

Whatever fling she’d had a year and a half ago, I’d been around to witness only a few minutes of it. Now it was a different matter. Ben wasn’t a bad guy, and Tate knew him somewhat well. Shit could escalate quickly between them.

The girl next to me leaned into my arm, and I looked down at her, almost wishing that I could take her home. I was overloaded with energy and adrenaline, and I wanted a girl in my bed tonight.

I could pretend I was going to take her with me. I could talk myself into it and let her body get mine worked up to where I’d shut off, dive in, and play for a while, but I’d be forcing it. There was only one girl I wanted and who knew exactly what I liked.

“Asshole!”

I jerked my head to the dance floor to see Pasha shoving a guy away from her.

Great. Annoyance flooded me like a rain shower, and I stood up, letting the girl’s hand fall off my thigh.

Pasha had gotten just drunk enough to let a guy dance with her, and now she’d come to her senses, not wanting the attention.

The guy—late twenties from the looks of him—smiled wide and grabbed her hips, pulling her into him.

“Stop!” Pasha shoved his hands away again, and I walked over, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

The dance floor was practically shoulder to shoulder, so their struggling wasn’t going unnoticed. Madoc, Fallon, and everyone else at their table were craning their necks to see what the commotion was about.

The guy grabbed her arm.

Shit.

I pushed through the crowd in just enough time to catch Pasha slapping him across the face.

“You bitch!” he yelled, holding his face.

I jumped between them, standing in front of Pasha.

“Back off,” I gritted out to the guy, bearing down on him as he tried to advance.