“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tiffany said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would you prefer I call it an ‘emotionally charged display of sexual tension in the form of dance?’” She leaned in, eyes sparkling with pure chaos. “Did he feel good, Bev?”

Beverly, now beet-red, let out a strangled sound. “Tiff⁠—”

“Did he smell g⁠—”

Jamal cleared his throat.

“Blake.” His voice was low, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or deeply concerned. “Buddy.”

I rubbed a hand down my face.

I needed to get out of this conversation. Immediately.

I needed to leave before I did something reckless. Before I ruined everything. Before I dragged Beverly back into my lap and let my hands wander the way I wanted to.

But I was still sitting there, heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

Get a grip, Blake. I forced myself to stand, my body still burning from where her hands had been. I felt like a fool. I was no better than that bleach-blond idiot, letting my emotions drive me like a car without brakes.

I needed distance. I needed air.

But Tiffany wasn’t done.

“So,” she drawled, looking between us like she was about to start taking bets. “Are you two going to talk about it, or are we all just going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”

I just shrugged—it saved me from talking.

The problem with Tiffany was that she latched onto words and never stopped moving her lips.

If you said nothing, she had nothing to work with.

“Don’t you dare ignore me,” she chided, narrowing her eyes.

I rolled my shoulders, forcing myself to look as unaffected as possible. “Nothing happened.”

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. “Nothing happened? Nothing happened? Blake, I have eyes⁠—”

“You heard me,” I said, already heading toward the back door.

Jamal materialized at my side, letting out a low whistle as he followed me. “So…that just happened? She really danced on you?”

I said nothing, because if I opened my mouth, I didn’t trust what would come out.

Jamal, being Jamal, didn’t care. He just kept going.

“I mean, damn,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw like he was contemplating something truly profound. “That’s, like⁠—”

I gritted my teeth, keeping my jaw locked tight. “Jamal.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

He leaned in, dropping his voice like he was about to tell me some deep, life-changing secret. “So…are you going to do something about it? Or are you just going to sit around like a loser while some other dude sweeps her off her feet?”

My heart raced as a bitter, ugly sensation began to rise in my throat, clawing its way up and demanding to be released.

How could he put it so bluntly?

“Uh,” Jamal said, glancing toward the back door as I stepped toward it. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” I replied tersely.

“Home?” he repeated. “Blake, you can’t just leave.”

“Watch me.”