Page 92 of Dissonance

“Aye?” He takes a step closer. “Because it sounds like you were.”

Heat climbs the back of my neck. I hate it.

“She’s been hanging off you all night,” I say, and I hear my control slipping in the words. “Not that it matters. You can do whatever you want.”

“Is that right.” It’s not a question. His head tilts, studying me the way he does, like he can hear all the things I’m not saying. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“The bloke in the tweed suit? He’s been standing by the bar most of the night. Couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”

“What?” I scoff.

“Or the one by the doors. Dark hair, glasses. Tried to speak to you twice.”

“I—” I stop, frowning. “That’s not true.”

“Seems like you’ve got options too.”

I stare at him, unblinking.

“I’m not interested,” I say, sharper than I mean it to be.

“No?”

“No. I’m not. It’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” I snap, then glance around at the few others outside, lowering my voice when I speak again. “I’m not clinging to someone all evening, touching them every thirty seconds, trying to get them to—” I stop, because I hear it, the pathetic undertones. Loud and obvious and entirely too self-incriminating.

I straighten, trying to recover, to pull it back, but he’s already closing the distance until he towers over me, and I have to tip my chin up to hold his gaze. The stubble I was used to before is thicker now, framing his lips. He looks entirely unrattled while I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.

“Jealousy looks good on you, Thea.”

My breath catches.

“Don’t,” I say, quieter now, because it’s the only word I can find.

His hand lifts, fingers toying with a strand of my hair, twisting it slowly, watching himself as he does it.

“I don’t want her,” he murmurs, voice like gravel.

“She wants you.” My hand closes around his wrist, but I don’t move it away.

“Aye,” he says, not cocky, just matter of fact. “But you’re the one I’m leaving with tonight.”

My lashes flutter, skin pulling tight, my heart thudding so loudly behind my ribs I’m surprised he can’t hear it. “Lockie…”

He leans in, close enough that I think he’s about to kiss me, but his mouth grazes past mine, warm breath ghosting over my cheek, then his lips at my ear instead.

“Take me home, Thea.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lockie

Present Day