Bad Romeo (Starcrossed #1)(100)
Author: Leisa Rayven

I should be with them, but I’m not in the mood.

Marco raises his glass to me and smiles. So happy with what he’s created. Onstage, Ethan and I are flawless. It’s made him confident in my abilities.

I give him a smile before looking into my drink.

He doesn’t realize he’s trusting someone whose emotions are slowly choking them.

Deep laughter rumbles across the room, and I turn to see Holt chuckling as Marco gestures wildly. He looks so happy.

I finish my drink and order another. Maybe four is my lucky number.

A man sits on the barstool next to me. He gives me a smile as he orders a Scotch. He looks a bit like Ethan. Dark hair and blue eyes. Attractive. Expensive suit. Tie loose, shirt unbuttoned.

I must be staring because he glances at me as the bartender delivers his drink. “I’d offer to buy you one, but it looks like that one’s still fresh.”

I blink and look away. “Uh … yeah. I’m good.”

“Are you here alone?”

That’s not what he’s asking, but I answer anyway.

“I’m here with friends,” I say and gesture to the loud table in the corner. Holt’s doing an impersonation of someone. Possibly Jack Nicholson.

The stranger nods. “Ah. Taking a break from the fun?”

“Something like that.”

Heat prickles up my spine, and I turn to see Holt, his gaze sharp and blazing from across the room. He’s stopped mid-impersonation. I’ve felt subtle glances from him all night, but this is different. I’m no longer alone.

I get a flashback of him before his personality makeover. Always so jealous.

I turn back to the bar and try to ignore him.

The stranger leans over, and the Scotch on his breath makes him smell like Ethan.

“You’re far too beautiful to be alone,” he says. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I’ve heard variations of that line countless times over the years, and on many occasions I let those men help me. And when I fucked them, I did so desperately. Using them and hating them afterward for not being Ethan. Hating myself more for still wanting him so much.

Hating him most of all.

The stranger is still waiting for an answer, hopeful my delicate emotional state will result in him getting laid. In the past, it probably would have.

“I’m just going to drink for a while,” I tell him and smile, aware that Holt is watching my every move. “But thanks for the offer.”

I touch his arm. Start at the tricep and run down to the elbow. My words say “no” but that touch says “maybe.” I don’t mean “maybe,” but Ethan doesn’t know that, and perhaps I want him to squirm. Perhaps I’m petty enough to test his newfound serenity and see if he’s really changed as much as he says.

I chat with the stranger. Give him a coy smile.

Ethan’s glare burns me every second I continue. I take sick comfort in it.

I wonder how far I’d have to push him before he breaks.

Another cocktail. More conversation. I can feel Ethan’s frustration like a ripple in the air, vibrating against me, telling me that what I’m doing is wrong.

It’s hurtful.

Vengeful.

After five cocktails, I’ve lost the ability to care. The stranger has his arm around me as he whispers in my ear. Tells me how beautiful I am. How much he wants me.

I laugh, because I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like trash.

The man plants a soft kiss on my neck. I don’t tell him to stop. When he does it again, Holt appears beside me, muscles bunched and expression brooding.

“Okay, Cassie. Time to go.”

“Wait a minute, pal,” the stranger says and tightens his arm around my waist. “The lady and I were having a conversation.”

Ethan practically growls at him. “Your conversation is over, pal. Take your fucking hands off her.”

Ah, the caveman cometh.

It’s kind of a relief that he’s not so perfect after all. Makes my imperfections seem less vast.

The stranger frowns and puts down his drink. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

Ethan leans over into his face. “I’m the guy who’s going to put your fucking head through the bar if you touch her for one more second. Anything else you want to know?”

With a flash of fear, the stranger lets me go, and Holt helps me up. I feel guilty for leading the stranger on, but not as guilty as I do for screwing with Ethan. I can’t even look at him as he walks me outside.

When we’re on the pavement, he stands me on my feet. I stumble over the gutter and brace myself against a parked car as I try to hail a cab. Everything is tilted and wrong, and I know that only he can make it right again, and that makes me fucking angry.

“Cassie, what the hell is going with you tonight?”

Another cab passes as I wave sloppily, and I almost fall before strong arms wrap around me and pull me up.

“Jesus Christ, would you stop? You’re going to get yourself run over.”

I grip his shirt as my legs sag, and all I feel is warmth, and arms, and lips on my forehead as I breathe in the so-right smell of him.

“Come back inside.”

“I have to go.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“No. I can’t do this.”

“What?”

“This!” His face is too close. Mouth too enticing. “This!” I push on his chest, hand over his heart. “You!”

I’m agitated. Bitter about things I can’t change and too frightened to think about the things I can.

He glares at me with barely repressed anger. “Would it make it easier if I was some douche in a suit who just wants to fuck you? Could you deal with me then?”

My legs give out again. He pulls me tight against him. Now I’m off my feet, and we’re chest to chest, face to face. He’s killing me with closeness.

“That’s it. I’m taking you home.”

I shake my head, wishing he could understand that if I stay with him any longer, he’ll unstitch me, and I really can’t fall apart now. Bitterness is the only thing holding me together. Without it, I’m shapeless.

Lost.

My breath hitches, and he loosens his embrace. Puts his hand on my cheek.

“Fuck.” He hugs me to him. Whispers in my ear. “Don’t cry. Please. I’m sorry. Whatever’s going on tonight, you’re going to be okay.”

I don’t believe him.

He holds me with one arm as he hails a passing cab. It stops, and he puts me in the backseat and passes the driver money with instructions to help me to my door if necessary. Then his face is in front of mine, concerned and unhappy.