Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(18)

My mouth pops open to defend her…but I realize, with a mental groan, that I said practically the same thing to her once. Hypocrite bangs around my head as I lead him back to the tables.

My night is officially on frustrate. I’d planned to ride the high, not let anything bother me, but I’m feeling like it’s better to end the night earlier rather than later. Before my mood really takes a dive for the trenches. And I end up punching one of my teammates.

Hell, besides, every time I try to make amends with Arian, I just end up f*cking things up worse. And I really do try. I mean, I go in with the best of intentions, an apology ready on my tongue—but then her hot little body draws me in. And I’m all over her, unable not to touch her.

My breathing is ramped just thinking about her body pressed to mine. I release a strained breath. We need a fresh start. A do-over. Fuck, we need something.

And I need to make it abundantly clear to Beck and the rest of them to steer clear. I stare at the glass of Coke, wary, as if the bartender somehow gave me the wrong drink. I don’t feel intoxicated, but I’m looking for a reason, any excuse, to blame for my abruptly brimming anger.

I need to go cool off outside.

Raising my hand, I signal the waitress to cash out my tab. While I’m waiting, hoping I can escape this scene before it gets ugly, I stare blankly at Marissa as she swivels her hips, rocking into James.

A high-pitched yelp snags my attention. My gaze is drawn to the bar top where Arian is waving her hands frantically. She bounces off the stool and pulls her soaked shirt away from her body.

What the…?

The laughter pulls me out of my confusion, and I turn around. Five of my guys covering their faces, trying and failing not to burst into laughter. As Arian’s annoyed voice rises above the low music, all of them at once lose it and crack up.

“Hey,” Beck says, shaking his head at me and shrugging sheepishly. “She makes it too easy, bro.” The others clap him on the back.

Then I’m walking toward Arian, lava in my veins. What the hell now?

“This your idea of a joke?” She stops ringing her shirt—that probably cost more than my old Jeep—to reach for a straw. She’s covered in what looks like cranberry juice. Then she uses the straw to pick something off the bar top. A condom. “It was in my drink.”

I see it now. Her putting the drink to her lips, seeing the floating condom, and then dumping the drink on herself. If it were any other snotty chick, I’d probably laugh; say she deserved it. But as I’m watching Arian get fired up with outrage, I note her shaking hands. The tremble of her lips. The hurt she’s trying to conceal. The humiliation etched on her face steals all the air from my lungs. I have nothing to laugh with.

And shit. Beck got the bartender in on this? My head whips around to see him still in the throes of laughter, slapping his large leg. These guys could get away with murder in this town.

When I look at Arian again, taking in her indignant posture, shoulders rolled back, head held high, and the unsure quake rolling through her body that contradicts it all—I realize how far off I’ve been about her. She might have money, but that’s where my assumptions end.

I should apologize on my guys’ behalf. Right now. But while I’m contemplating the best way, trying to think of words that won’t dig me in further, I think my mouth actually hangs open, my brain trying to formulate these elusive words. Those damn words that always come out all wrong around her.

“So, you don’t deny it. Good.” She chucks the condom on the bar top.

“Whoa, wait.” Finally, I can articulate a thought. But it’s too late. Her friend is grabbing their jackets, her face drawn in a sour expression that makes my stomach clench.

“That was uncalled for,” her friend says. “Tell your buddies…” She trails off with a hard sigh. “Never mind.” Then she’s draping Arian with a green jacket and walking her toward the door.

Fucking hell.

I storm over to the table, my chest heavy and breaths constricted. “I thought I said no one f*cks with her.”

Their animated faces drop into tight frowns. “It was a joke, Ryde. Just f*cking around,” Beck says. “Besides, she’s a bitch.”

Anger flares hot and violent in my veins. I breathe in, out. In. Out. Taking measured breaths to calm myself before I blow up at him. Bracing my hands on the table, I lean over them and say, “I hope getting one over on her felt good. I hope it was worth it.” I glance around the table. “Because we’re doing squats until your legs want to kick the shit out of you tomorrow.”

Mumbled groans travel around the tables.

My guys know this shit isn’t cool. And they’ll move on after this. Probably even feel like the shits that they are and apologize to her. Ultimately, I wish it hadn’t gone this far. For Arian’s sake, and all the others…I should’ve spoken up a long time ago. I don’t have a real excuse other than cowardice. As long as things go easy, I don’t make ripples. But since Arian came along—with her obnoxious beacon shining a light right on my shameful past—easygoing Ryder is done.

Nothing about this girl is going to be easy.

But I’m being selfish, still, wondering just how much damage control I’ll now have to do to set things right between us.

Because—suddenly and purposely—I realize I’ve been thinking of her in us statements. Hell.