Page 94 of The Curveball
“Hi, Griff.” My aunt squeezes my hand when I return to the table. “You look so handsome. So much like your dad.”
“Thanks,Zia.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Hey, you didn’t see where Wren went did you?”
“Sure did. She headed toward the dessert with Skye and the boys.”
Aka Ryder and Dax. I breathe a little easier. They’ll keep an eye on her back in case some douche bag gets any ideas.
I say a few hellos to people as I weave my way through the crowds. The place is packed, and it’ll be near impossible to see Wren until I’m five feet away from her.
I cut through tables, avoiding the dancefloor, slowly drifting to the edge of the room. This would go faster if people would stop trying to talk to me. I’ve never been antisocial, but I’m pulling a Dax.
I don’t want to chat, don’t want to stop until I have eyes on Wren.
Honestly, I’d be fine to leave and spoon on the couch the rest of the night.
Wishful thinking. I turn over my shoulder to find her, but stop in my place. There’s a deep, sinking feeling in my gut when I look to one side and catch sight of Clay.
He gawked at Wren all through dinner, all through our speeches. Stalking her with his eyes. It’s predatory, and all I can picture is a scared teen-version of my Birdie pinned beneath his passed-out body.
He doesn’t belong here. I’ll keep my promise to Wren, but he’s also a threat to her, and those need to go out with the trash.
Fire replaces my blood with every step I take closer to this guy. He must sense my scrutiny and faces me, winking after a few seconds.
My fists curl for what seems like the tenth time that night, and I have to repeat all the reasons I promised not to touch this guy. It’ll hurt Wren is the biggest one flashing in big neon letters in my head. I’d never want to hurt her, never want to dig up all the dreary parts of the past.
Clay sips his drink. His scrutiny sets off every warning bell in my head.
Three long strides and we’re face to face.
“The great Griffin Marks.” Clay grins a little viciously. “I’ve been learning so much about you.”
“Have you? Maybe we ought to go talk about what you’ve heard outside.”
“You sound a littletesty. Wonder why? Haven’t been hearing stories about me, have you?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
“We’re going to have a schoolyard brawl, huh, Marks? That’s how you’re going to handle it?”
For a second after Wren told me her story, I wanted to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. I wondered if he didn’t remember much, being drunk and all. Maybe he really was emotional over a divorce and wanted comfort.
My sympathy lasted a total of a few breaths. Now, the way he hints that he knows exactly why I’m about to pop a blood vessel from frustration, he’s getting nothing from me by way of sympathy.
I’d love to go dark in my head and forget myself. I’d love to have this guy afraid like he made Wren afraid all those years ago.
“No,” I grit out. “But I am asking you to leave. You were personally placed on a list of names not invited tonight by me.”
“But I haven’t made my donation yet.”
“I’ll make it for you,” I say. “Come on. I don’t want a scene, but you don’t belong here and you know it. I’m only going to ask once more.”
Clay takes another drink, then takes a step into my personal space. “Or what?”
This guy is a piece of work.
My hand grips Clay’s shoulder. I squeeze. “You don’t want to cause a scene for Grant, do you?”
He tries to shake me off. I dig my fingernails in deeper.