Page 72 of Jig's Last Dance
Deep down, I acknowledge that this is why I didn’t press the issue. Part of me doesn’t want to know.
Jig chatters the entire way, but I tune him out, watching the scenery fly by. I’m fucked. No amount of shining blue eyes and pretty smiles is going to free me from this hundred-pound weight.
Notwithstanding Jig, Sal’s machinations and John are more than I bargained for, and I want out. I was foolish enough to get myself here, and I better wise up fast.
When we roll up to Fight Club, I groan, and Jig turns to me with a sadistic smirk. Dick.
Still, it’s better than going home. Right?
There’s already a pair of fighters in the ring when we enter. No one I recognize. And this time, I’m able to hide behind the guys; either that or Shawn’s brothers don’t give a fuck—depressing that.
Jig orders me a beer, and I snag it before turning to watch the match. Despite his antics at the car, I’m still smarting over the conversation I walked in on and how naive I was to worry about his fucking feelings.
I’m just glad I didn’t spill anything between the sheets. At least I still have some fucking dignity.
“Hey.” I turn and meet Kier’s gaze with a grimace.
These guys are the brothers I wish I had, and their cruelty stings. I thought I meant more.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Kier says, and I glance at him before my eyes are drawn to the bright strands of Jig’s honey-colored hair beyond his shoulder.
Jig is leaning against the wall, speaking to a pretty blonde with a huge rack. He grins, tipping his head, and my mood turns black. Is he flirting with her? He sure moved on quickly.
Dick.
He must sense my stare because he looks up, but I turn away, disappearing through the crowd. I’m not this girl who pines after a guy. I’ve had enough. Enough. I’m tired of his damn mercurial moods. My neck hurts from the damn whiplash. He wants to act like a dick? Let him. I have more important shit to deal with.
But my rancor falls flat when I spy Iris through the crowd. Where she is, John is surely not far behind. And searching the masses, I turn in a circle, my gaze stopping on Jig, who’s looming over me with a fierce scowl.
“Ali—”
“I have to pee,” I say, escaping into the crowd.
Iris is leaning against the wall with a dazed expression, but as soon as she sees me, she melts into the shadows while I continue toward the bathroom.
Entering a stall, I turn to face the door, and she slips in behind me.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
She grabs my arm and says, “Did you get it?”
“Get what?” I mutter, pulling from her grasp.
She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “The box.”
“Oh, that. Yes. It’s at home.”
She sags against the wall, and I make a mental note to look inside the damn thing. With everything going on, I forgot it’s in my bag, but clearly, it’s important to her.
“Good,” she breathes, grabbing the door. “John’s waiting out back.”
“For what?” But she’s gone, and I’m left staring at the wall with a pounding pulse.
What the fuck is he doing here?
Shit.
Washing my hands, I avoid the inevitable by, like, two fucking seconds and head toward the back door. Uneasily, I glance behind me, confirming I’m in the clear. With a deep breath, I step outside.