And some stupid, reckless, self-destructive part of me wanted him to see. I didn’t even know why. Maybe I wanted to prove something—to him, to myself. Maybe I wanted to remind myself that I could be around other guys, that my world didn’t begin and end with Blake McHayes and his stupid green eyes and the way his voice scraped over my skin like rough velvet.

Maybe I wanted him to feel something.

So I shrugged. “Sure,” I said, loud enough that I knew Blake would hear me, even over the music.

Drew grinned like he’d already won, his fingers curling around my wrist as he tugged me toward the crowd.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t have to.

I already knew Blake was watching.

17

BLAKE, 1998

17 years old

I should’ve left.

The moment I saw Beverly in that pink halter top, looking soft and bright and not mine, I should have turned around and left before this feeling could sink its claws into me.

Instead, I sat there, gripping the armrest of the couch like it was the only thing stopping me from making a bad decision.

Jamal was talking. Saying something about a girl he met last week, or maybe something about a song playing too loud over the speakers. I wasn’t listening.

Because Beverly was dancing—with that smug, bleach-blond moron who probably spent more time perfecting his tan than he did forming coherent thoughts.

I knew I shouldn’t have come. I should never have let Jamal drag me here, never let myself believe I could sit in the same room as her and pretend she didn’t own me.

But now, it was too late.

Pink. Silver. Bare skin.

I couldn’t stop seeing her.

She was playing with me. I knew it. She knew it.

The way she threw that sure over her shoulder, the way she didn’t even spare me a glance—she wanted me to react.

It was a test.

I just didn’t know the rules.

I didn’t know what she wanted me to do.

But I knew what I wanted to do.

I wanted to drag her away from him. I wanted to put my mouth where that stupid butterfly charm dangled above her stomach and see if she still thought this was a game.

But I did none of those things.

I just sat there, breathing through my nose, digging my fingers into the fabric of the couch, forcing myself to stay put.

Jamal shifted beside me. “Blake.”

I ignored him.

He tried again. “Blake…” His voice was casual, but I could hear the warning in it.

“She doesn’t even like him,” I muttered, my voice low. “It’s written all over her face.”

Jamal followed my gaze and sighed.

“She’s just—” I exhaled, my grip tightening. “She’s just doing this to piss me off.”