The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(48)

Clutching my drink, I bring it to my mouth and gulp. I’m not the jealous type. I’ve never been serious about any of the girls I’ve dated. And maybe that’s why. But this feeling ripping through my chest . . . I don’t like it.

It makes me feel out of control. And I worked for a long time after high school to get myself under control. Even took Tai Chi for a year. Those f*cking breathing techniques are doing shit now as I watch his hand slide up her thigh. Her inner-thigh.

Sam laughs as he tugs her leg into position, then presses up against her, guiding her body from behind. I’m not pissed. They’re just dancing. And as long as he doesn’t cross the line—I’m a guy; I know when the line is crossed—I’m cool.

The song changes abruptly, and the douchebag jumps up and down, pumping his fist in the air with the rest of the crowd. Twirling Sam around to face him, he pulls her close. Sam backs away, says something, and the guy nods.

He shows her a move—his foot doing some slick, twisting movement—and then he smiles at her. My chest loosens. Shit. I look around, trying to get perspective. Everyone is grinding and feeling each other up. It’s a club. I don’t get what the hell my deal is.

I look back at them as Sam’s feet actually pull off the move and laugh. She bounces, so excited, and glances at me. She points to herself and shakes her hips. If she acts any cuter tonight, I’m in trouble.

The asshat next to her doesn’t take the hint that she’s here with someone. He grasps her hips, bringing her body flush against his. The guy’s a lot taller than her—not as tall as me—and he gets lower to dance with her. Pelvis to pelvis.

And that crushing feeling is back with a spike of adrenaline to my bloodstream. I try to suppress it with deep breaths. But as I watch him grinding on her, all but dry humping, an image of me ripping his head off—dumb backward baseball cap and all—invades my mind. He spins Sam around to face him, and his hands roam over her arms. Shoulders. Back. Ass.

Red.

The dark club pulses red in my vision.

I’m off the stool and storming toward them. I knock into a few people, unaware if I’m pushing them out of the way. I don’t want to be that guy. But my jaw is clenched. Muscles corded tight. Hands fisted. And my heart knocks hard against my chest, the pounding muting the music as blood roars in my ears.

The guy must see me coming, because his hands move to Sam’s back as he puts a few inches between their bodies. Too late.

“Hey, man,” I shout, kicking my chin out. His eyes snap to my face. “She’s here with someone.”

He holds up his hands as Sam turns toward me. “Sorry, bro. Just dancing. She’s all yours.” He slides away from Sam and swivels toward another girl dancing with her hands above her head.

My body is still thrumming with the anticipation of a fight when I feel Sam’s hands on my face. She tilts it down so that my eyes meet her large, round ones.

“Relax, Holden,” she says. “He’s harmless.”

I huff out a strained laugh. If she only knew just how untrue her words are. There’s no such thing as a harmless dude in a club, getting wasted with only one thing on his mind. But as her hand slips into mine, the anger seizing my body dissipates. A fraction.

“You wanna go?” she asks.

I watch as her face falls. Fuck. She was having a good time, and I really don’t want to be the one to ruin that. Stuffing my absurd jealousy in a box, I force a smile. “Show me your juking moves.”

With a laugh, she looks down at her feet. “All right,” she shouts as she releases my hand and backs up a step. Then she bounces onto her toe and slides her foot in a smooth movement along the floor. Her hands do a similar, fluid motion before her body follows. She looks up and raises her eyebrows expectantly.

The tightness masking my facial muscles eases, allowing my lips to stretch into a grin. “Awesome.”

“I know!” She bounces, and my chest warms, her scent sending a buzz to my head.

The music changes to a slower beat and she looks around, I guess deciding if we’re going to stand here or go. I make the call. Probably the wrong one, but f*ck it.

Winding an arm around her waist, I bring her body against mine. I grasp her chin between my thumb and finger and lift her face, meeting her eyes. And with a hard drop in my stomach, I say, “You’re dancing with me.”

The tiny knot in her throat bobs as she swallows, her eyes clear and knowing. I want her to know who she’s dancing with. I don’t want her to pretend, or to substitute me tonight. I want her to want to be in my arms. And God forgive me, I’m sorry, Tyler . . . but . . . I want her.

There’s no more almost. I’m not falling. Hell, I fell a long time ago.

I just hope the delayed impact doesn’t kill me.





Sam

The strobe lights swirl above the crowd, along the walls, the floor, us. As the music heightens with the change of beat, a blast of light-filled fog cocoons me and Holden, wrapping us in our own world.

A voice of reason is trying to break through the club haze wrapping my brain, shouting that this is wrong. That I shouldn’t be this close to him. I didn’t listen to that voice all those years ago, and I regretted it. But being in Holden’s arms is so easy. Effortless. Against all logic and that voice kicking the walls of my mind, for this one, short moment, I let myself get lost.