Page 80 of Detour

His arms wrap around my waist, holding me tight. “You deserve more than you think. You deserve everything.” Before I can disagree, he grabs my hand, saying, “Let’s show you off. It is your party after all and I’m supposed to be sharing. Although with you dressed like that, I don’t know how long my resolve will last.”

“I can change,” I offer weakly, not because a guy wants me to but because I have the urge to bring my hands up to cover myself without my go-to style in place.

“Don’t even think about it. I’d drop to my knees right now if I thought it’d keep you in that outfit.”

As he leans back showing his appreciation for my outfit, my imagination sparks, making my thighs clench.

I pull him back to me with a finger under his chin and against his lips, I whisper, “Drop to your knees and I’ll be the one begging you to take my clothes off.”

Growling, he pushes forward, crowding me again. “Upstairs. Now.”

I dance out of his reach. “Maybe later. There’s a party with my name on it,” I say, pointing to the huge sign that literally has my name on it—aside from the bottom chunk of the L that’s missing, making it look more like ANGEIA, but whatever. Arts and crafts are not these guys’ strong suits. Chiseled jawlines and sculpted muscles are more their speed and that’s okay. The point is they tried and this party is still for me, even if that means I have to change my name.

Coty sighs loudly. “Fine.”

There are at least thirty people enjoying the early summer weather and I’m once again wondering how the guys can pull this off without management stepping in. I internally cringe, imagining all the neighbors, including Gary, listening to the loud music right now.

We make the rounds, with Coty introducing me to different people scattered around the courtyard, and I smile politely, thanking them as we go, knowing I’ll never remember anyone’s names. It’s just too many at one time.

Coty’s constantly finding excuses to touch me. Whether to tuck some hair behind my ear, hold my hand, or smooth his palm down my back—he simply won’t stop.

We come to a row of tables, filled with finger foods, drinks and…sparklers? I’m not really sure honestly, but I recognize Marc’s sister as she sets out more napkins, so I give her a tight smile when she looks up.

“Hi! You must be the neighbor.”

Although true, there’s something more to her tone, almost dismissive, that doesn’t sit well. In fact, it doesn’t sit at all. It’s pacing like a caged animal, waiting to be fed.

I clench my teeth, taking her hand in mine for a limp shake. Coty wraps his arm around my middle, tucking me into his side. “Maggie, this is Angela. Angela, this is Maggie, Marc’s kid sister.” He kisses my temple which flexes with every bite of my jaw.

“Nice to meet you.” It’s not, really, but she is keeping the napkins stocked.

“Same.” Her gaze runs from me to Coty, then back again. With a finger propped on her lip, she says, “Although, I thought you would’ve been here with Tony. Wasn’t that who you were with last time I saw you?” She flicks her gaze to the pool.

Coty stiffens beside me.

“I live here, so that’s probably why you saw me. And I wouldn’t be with that guy anyway, I only met him once for a few minutes.”

“Oh,” her penetrating stare shifts to Coty, “then why did you give him a black eye?”

Now Coty’s the one with the ticking jaw. After a long, quiet moment, he breaks eye contact with Maggie to glance down at me, cocking his head. “He deserved it.”

“What are those?”

Our small triangle turns to see what Beckett’s shouting about, then follow his outstretched finger. Realizing what he’s pointing at, I pull out of Coty’s grasp. My heartbeat pounds louder than the outdoor speakers, filling my ears with its brassy beat. Right away, I begin searching the new sandals for scuffs, tears, holes, anything that would give me away—that would show what I truly am—only I can’t find a single mark. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. What does he see that I don’t? What do any of them see for that matter?

I knew I should’ve changed.

I pin Beckett with a hard scowl, trying to keep my voice steady. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Those nails, girl,” he says with a laugh. “You might be the only chick I’ve ever seen that doesn’t have her toenails painted.”

Oh. That. Yeah, add painting nails to the many things I never learned growing up.

My pulse slows and the music comes back into focus just before I’m scooped up from behind. With arms under my legs and back, Beckett takes the few steps across the cement bringing us closer to the pool ledge.

“Don’t you do it.”

His chest rumbles beneath my ribs as he advances. “What? This?” With one final step, he plunges into the deep end, taking me with him.