“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck what you were only doing,” Jay spits.
At this moment Jessie saunters over, throwing an arm around Jay’s shoulder and crooning “John, I’m Only Dancing” by David Bowie into his face. Obviously, this is an effort to diffuse the situation. The second Jay hears her, his anger dissipates, and he almost smiles. His jaw is still set tight, though. He lets go of Stuart’s shirt, and Stuart backs away, looking at Jay like he’s nuts.
“You’re crazy,” he mumbles, smoothing out his shirt.
Jay smiles at him, showing teeth. “That’s what they tell me.”
My brain can’t comprehend why that just happened, and my cheeks are flaming red. Did Jay think I was letting myself down by allowing Stuart to essentially maul me while we danced?
I turn on my heel and hurry away, finding myself back in the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Needing a moment alone, I open the door to one of them and step inside. It’s mostly empty, with just a bed and a few sparse bits of furniture. It must be Jessie’s spare room. Letting out a sigh, I flop down onto the bed and cover my face with my hands.
This entire night has been a huge disaster.
I take deep breaths, trying to calm down and push away my embarrassment. A familiar scent hits me when I turn my face into the bed sheets. They smell like Jay. He must have spent the night here at some point, and that’s why they smell of him. Trust me to pick this room of all rooms to seek refuge in. I want to get him out of my head, but somehow he keeps worming his way back in without even having to try.
Minutes tick by, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying myself a little too much. Secretly relishing Jay’s scent, remembering what it felt like to sleep in the same bed as him, his big arms wrapped around me. God, I’m so ridiculous.
I cover my face with my hands again just as I hear the door to the room open and shut so quietly I almost miss it. Something inside me knows that it’s him, a sixth sense alerting me to his presence.
Slowly, I remove my hands from my face, my heart jumping a little when I see he’s standing over me right at the foot of the bed, a torn look on his face. The top half of my body is lying flat, while my legs dangle off the edge.
“I don’t want to see you right now,” I practically whisper, my eyes becoming watery.
His head tilts to the side, his gaze trailing hotly down my body before returning to my face. “Why not?”
I sit up quickly, gesticulating furiously. “You just punched Stuart for no reason! What the hell was that about? Do you have anger-management issues?”
His jaw ticks. Yeah, I’m definitely starting to recognise that as a sign he’s not happy. “Oh, it’s ‘Stuart,’ is it? Your date just left, and you’ve already moved on to someone else? That’s real classy, Watson.”
“Are you serious? I’m the classless one? You started all this with your snide behaviour toward Owen, so let’s not pretend this is my fault.”
“I told you I don’t like him. And I don’t like that Stuart guy, either. You need to be more selective about who you let put their hands all over you.”
His words make me jump up from the bed. It seems to surprise him, because he steps back a little. I march toward him, glaring up at him and pointing my finger hard into his chest.
“You shouldn’t care about that, Jason! You only want me to be your friend, remember?”
Swiftly, he grabs the finger I just pointed at him, holding it to his chest. The warmth of his hand makes some of my anger dissipate. A quick breath escapes me. Now he starts to move forward with purpose, backing me up against the wall on the other side of the room.
“I care,” he says harshly, voice low, threatening, almost. It’s confusing that such a voice can still give me chills all down my spine. Good ones. “Friends care about their friends.”
Something inside of me deflates. “That’s all it is? A friend looking out for another friend?” I ask, needing him to say no, praying that he doesn’t say yes.
“Yes,” he murmurs, then swears under his breath. “No. Fuck. I didn’t think this would be so difficult.”
“What?”
He doesn’t tell me, just keeps staring intensely into my eyes until I think I might melt into a puddle on the floor. “I don’t want you to date Owen.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you dancing with fucks like Stuart, either.”
I lick my lips, and his gaze zones in on the movement. His body is pressed right up against mine, and I can feel his thick length harden against my thigh. His arousal turns me on. Fizzy bubbles pop in my belly.