With You (NOW PUBLISHED)

chapter three

I bounce between bodies like a pinball as I fight my way to the bar. Elbows jab into my sides, shoulders ram into my head. Just another one of the perks of being five foot two. I can almost see the top of the bartender's head, when I feel a heel catch under my foot, sending me tumbling into the person in front of me.

"Hey, watch it, bitch!" a girl snarls, shoving me off with her arm. The smell of the whiskey on her breath hits me in waves. "The fuck is your problem?"

Bitch? Really?

I take a step back. Ever since we arrived, I feel like I've crossed over some invisible line and found myself in the middle of a Quentin Tarantino movie. I've heard more curse words than I do in a normal week—and I live with Becks—so, that's saying something.

"I'm so sorry," I say, watching her sway. The girl's dark brown eyes are almost predator-like as she scowls down at me from hooded lids. "I tripped and—"

"You're sorry?"

The guy she's with tries to pull her back while yelling all the ways that I'm not worth the energy.

Thanks?

But with a growl, his efforts are futile because she shoves his hands away, yelling, "You gotta be . . ." her words trail off into a garbled mess I can't decipher.

I bite my lip. Crap.

This girl looks like she's the type of person who loves getting into fights. She has, what my father calls, "the look." Blown-out eyes. Matted hair. The beaded, sweat-soaked forehead, and worn nails. She's either high, or currently coming down from one. And by the smell of her breath, anything could set her off.

It's then that a voice breaks through the crowd—deep, rich, and strangely . . . familiar.

"Is there a problem here?" the voice asks, and at the sound of it, all eyes drop to the floor.

If I were smart, I'd fall in suit with everyone else around me, but instead I do the opposite. The lure of suspicion wins out over my better judgement as I turn and come face to face with its owner. The second our eyes meet, I have to lock my knees so that I don't faint.

"Do I need to repeat the question?" he asks, his tone clipped and annoyed.

I feel my jaw drop as I take in a deep breath in an attempt to steady myself.

No.

It can't be.

"Theo? Y- You're back?" I stumble my words as I attempt to answer him. Knots form in my stomach and twist in a way that make me feel sick.

What the hell is he doing here?

Staring up at him clinically, it's easy to see why he's so handsome, with his dark green eyes and brown, slightly tousled hair. The exact type of guy I often try to avoid. He's too attractive for anything good to ever come out of dating a guy like him. The sort of guy who has more girls vying for his attention than he knows what to do with.

With his chiseled face and muscular frame—apparent even under his black T-shirt and jeans. For whatever reason, whatever it is, I'm immediately rendered defenseless. The only thing I hate more than feeling this way is the look on his face as if I had somehow disappointed him with my answer.

"It's good to see you, Brielle," he says. The corners of his lips pulling back into that devilish grin I've always loved. The memory of the last time I saw it is something I'm not ready to relive just yet.

I close my eyes, hearing the crowd around us take a collective breath and hold it as he steps in my direction. Should I be afraid like they all seem to be? The thought is there and gone before I have the chance to really think about it. I open my eyes.