“Yeah, no thanks to you. What the hell were you playing at? You were so…so mean. It’s not like you at all.”
Another swallow of beer and a shrug. His lack of a response infuriates me.
“You hurt his feelings, and he was nothing but nice to you. I don’t like this side of you, Jay. What’s gotten into you?”
He looks away, gracing me with his gorgeous profile. God, does he have to be so attractive? It doesn’t help my situation one tiny bit. He sets the bottle down on the table and stubs out his smoke, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When he looks up at me, his eyes are dark, angry, almost. “I don’t like him.”
“He’s done nothing to you.”
Jay lets out a joyless laugh. “Oh, I beg to differ.”
We stare at each other for a long time, our eyes battling it out.
“Is everything okay?” Michelle asks, walking over from the railing where she and the blond guy had moved their conversation, probably to escape the tension between Jay and me.
“Owen’s gone home,” I tell her, finally breaking our stare.
“Oh. Well, not to worry. He was probably just tired.”
“Nope. Jay was acting like a right arsehole,” I snap, my eyes on Jay the entire time. “That’s why he left.”
With that I turn on my heel and stomp away. Behind me I can hear Michelle chewing out an uncharacteristically silent Jay. I make my way to the kitchen, where Jessie is currently doing shots with two attractive brunettes.
“Hey, Matilda, you want one?” she asks, offering me a shot glass of dark liquid. Without a word I take it from her and knock it back all in one go. It tastes vile, like chemicals and liquorice. Still, when she gives me another, I drink every drop the same as the first.
“Have you got any vodka?” I ask, and she locates a small bottle. I take it from her and go in search of orange juice, pouring both into a glass.
“Are you all right, honey?” Jessie asks, concerned.
“Jay’s a dick.”
She laughs. “Yeah. I love that man like my own flesh and blood, but he has his difficult moments. I put up with them because it’s only one percent of him. The other ninety-nine percent is pretty fucking amazing.”
And isn’t that the truth. Right now I can’t stand him, but at the same time he’s probably the best person I’ve ever known. I hate fighting with him, but I really can’t let him get away with his behaviour around Owen. He needs to know he can’t treat people like that.
Michelle shows up then, petting my hair. “Don’t let him ruin your night, honey. Come on, we’re going to dance that frown upside down.”
I muster a smile and allow her to drag me away. She leads me over to the open space that’s been designated as the dance floor. One of Jessie’s friends is DJ-ing over in the corner, loud dubstep music filling the apartment. I close my eyes and just go with it, dancing to the beat. A while later the guy Michelle had been talking with and one of his friends join us. We all dance as a group, but soon Michelle pairs off with her guy, and the friend sets his sights on me.
Usually, in a situation like this, I’ll figure out some way of keeping the dancing friendly. But not tonight. Tonight I’m out to erase my crush on Jay once and for all. The guy I’m dancing with is tall and dark-haired. He puts his hands on my hips and leans down to whisper in my ear.
“I’m Stuart.”
“Matilda,” I reply, and he smiles.
The music seems to get louder as we continue dancing. After a while, his hands stray from my hips. It feels like they’re everywhere. Sliding up and down my back, grazing my bottom. All the while there’s an itching beneath my skin. I can’t lie to myself and pretend that I like this. In fact, I kind of hate it. I want his hands off me right now.
I’ve never been one of those girls who can let men do things because I’m feeling reckless. Even when I’m reckless, if I don’t like the guy, then there’s this weird little bubble of steel deep in my gut that won’t allow me to take things further.
As I dance, I curse myself for having that steel bubble. It ruins everything.
I don’t have to politely tell Stuart that I’d prefer it if he kept his hands to himself, though, because all of a sudden those hands are being ripped away from me.
Twenty-One
I see the punch connect before I recognise who’s doing the punching. Then I notice the familiar tattoos on the arms, and I know it’s Jay. Oh, my God.
“Keep your fucking hands off her,” he fumes, clutching Stuart’s shirt in his fist.
“What the hell, man? We were only dancing!”