Page 11 of Fighting Fate
But seeing her here, flirting with other guys, wasn't part of the plan. And that familiar tight knot in my stomach from the restaurant? It's returned with a vengeance.
Milli's out there, dancing like she doesn't have a care, chatting up guys left and right. And me? I'm trying to focus on Blondie here, but my eyes keep drifting back to Milli. I'm a moth, and she's the flame.
Downing my drink, I welcome the pleasant buzz that starts to settle in. Signaling the bartender for a new one, I pride myself on my ability to drink without facing a brutal hangover the next day. There's team lifting tomorrow, but I'm not worried about it.
Fresh beer in hand, I take in the scene. Club Zero's is usually chill, but tonight, with spring breakers around, it's a whole new level of wild. The place is electric—strobing lights, bodies everywhere, the music loud and pumping.
"Got anything good?" Blondie—Sharon, Shayen, whatever—sidles up to me, all purrs and smiles as she eyes my drink. I can't even remember her name, and I feel a bit guilty about that.
"Nope," I say, giving her a casual brush-off. Not my style to be cold to girls, but she's clinging like crazy.
She huffs, muttering as she heads off for a drink. Can't blame her, but my mind's elsewhere. On Milli. She's looking all over the place, probably for Luke. And Luke? He's in his element, surrounded by a couple of brunettes, loving the attention.
Shaking my head, I steal another glance at Milli. It's like our eyes have radar for each other; hers find mine across the crowded room. I take a swig of my beer, peering over the rim. The moment she spots me, there's this tension that ripples through her, but it's fleeting. Soon enough, she's back to dancing with this guy, his hands all over her, gripping her waist like he's got some sort of claim on her.
As he twirls her, her body molds closer to his, his hands wandering with a boldness that stirs unease within me. She leans into him, her head tilting back to rest against his chest, while her captivating gaze locks onto mine. In her eyes, there's an unmistakable desire that sets off something deep in me—a kind of raw, primal urge.
She arches an eyebrow, all playful, her hands moving up to the guy's neck. The dude's clearly enjoying it; way too much. But it's not his reaction that's got me. It's Milli, the way she's just so alive, so aware of every move she makes, and fuck, how she holds my gaze as her fingers trail down the guy's neck, torturing me with every slow, deliberate touch.
What the hell is she playing at? And why's it getting under my skin so much?
My hand, not holding the beer, curls into a fist just as Milli tilts her head toward the guy, breaking our eye lock. He leans in, his lips way too close to hers for my comfort. And before I know it, my feet are moving, like they've got a mind of their own.
What the fuck are you doing, Miles?
But I'm already halfway to making a choice. I've got two ways to play this:
I could go over there, yank the guy away, and make it clear she's off-limits.
Or, I could grab Luke and let him handle his little sister.
Either way, I'm in deep. I know I should just let it be, but watching Milli like this, something's snapped inside me. I need to do something, anything, before this night spins way out of control.
As I scan the club, Luke's still caught up with a pair of brunettes, oblivious to everything else. Deciding on option one, my heart races, my hands a little sweaty, as I head toward Milli. It's a mix of nerves and excitement. I've known Milli forever, seen her grow from a quiet kid into this...this woman who doesn't need my say-so, like when she's dancing with some random guy.
You don't need her approval, do you, Miles? My inner voice mocks me.
I stride over, eyes fixed on Milli and her dance partner. I nod at the guy, telling him to scram. I'm taking over. "The hell, man, I was here first," he protests, his grip on Milli tightening. I see a flicker of worry in her eyes. Milli's not a chess piece, not someone to be shuffled around. She's a person, not a problem to be solved with brute force. She deserves finesse, understanding, and respect.
"I'm not asking twice," I say, voice low, fists clenched. He sees the barely contained anger in my stance, gets the message, and backs off, hands up like he's surrendering.
He steps back with a muttered, "She's all yours," leaving space for me to step in. Instinctively, my hands settle on her waist for the second time this evening, and I immediately notice her sharp intake of breath, her body stiffening at my touch.
But before I can get too hung up on her reaction, she's giving me this cheeky smile, slinging her arms around my neck all easy-like. "So, I'm all yours tonight, aren't I, Sunshine?" she ribs.
Hell yeah, you are.
I groan, both at the implications and her nickname for me. She's called me that forever, a nod to how I've always tried to stay positive, even when things got tough.
Cute, sometimes . . .