I can’t do anything but blink at Max, whose face has turned an impressive shade of red.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
I nod, my gaze finding my fingers, which twist together in my lap.
He lets go of me to put his hands to his head, pulls on his hair, then shoots up, pacing. His gaze swings back down to me, and he searches for something in my eyes, my facial expression, although I’m not sure what. The stony set of his jaw tells me he’s wondering what the hell I’d been thinking.
It doesn’t take long before it bursts from him. “Daphne, did he pressure you? Sorry. I’m struggling here. I don’t understand—” His chest rises and falls rapidly and he groans, the sound an audible mix of frustration and anger.
Scarlett sighs. “Max …”
I shake my head. “I wanted to be with him. He didn’t force me into anything. I-I thought—” My eyes flicker shut. “I was stupid. I thought we really had something. He made me feel like I was the only one who saw him for him—for his true self. Like I was the one person who understood him.” I suck in some air. Blow it out. “Like maybe we had something real. That maybe he’d been waiting for someone like me all this time.”
Scarlett whispers from beside me as she puts a hand on my back. “Do you want to go home?”
I glance from her to Max and then down the hall where we can still hear strains of music coming from the decked-out lunchroom.
Max clears his throat. “We’ll do whatever you want.”
I catch my lip between my teeth. Inhale. Exhale. It’s like I have to remind myself to keep breathing. “Scar, I’m going to need help fixing my makeup.”
“You got it.”
“I want to go back in there and show that asshole what he’s missing out on.”
My words make both Scarlett’s and Max’s brows shoot up in surprise.
I know. I surprise myself sometimes, too.
A few minutes later, Scarlett and I exit the bathroom. Max pushes off the wall where he’d been waiting and the three of us head back to the dance. Just outside the door, Max tries to get me to pause for a second, going as far as gripping my bicep to stop me. I shrug him off. My chest is tight, making it hard to breathe, and my mind is fuzzy. I don’t know if Max is able to see in my eyes how badly I’m hurting, but he reluctantly lets go. “Daph. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
My lips form a tight, thin line, and I try to smile at the two of them, but I can’t. “I have to do something. Please, just let me do it.” I pick up my pace, leaving them staring in my wake. My eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone, anyone …
Aha. Off to the side of the dance floor is a group of juniors—football players, no less—I’d heard in the hallway yesterday. They’d been busy making some pact to come alone to the dance so they wouldn’t have to deal with dates and could have fun “fucking around.” At the time, I’d thought it was really gross because they’d made bets with each other over whether they could hook up with other guys’ dates.
But now? They’re perfect.
My heart thunders with every step I take—especially when I sense Micah’s eyes tracking my movement across the room. Picking out a random set of broad shoulders, I tap on the owner. It doesn’t matter who it is. I don’t care. When he turns, my eyes widen a fraction.
Griffin Danbrook. Beau’s younger brother. He’s one of the guys who was checking out the whipped cream Double D on my car windshield, courtesy of Alora.
Beau and Micah are close, but I have no clue if Micah hangs out with Griffin.
In the end, it’s not enough to stop me, and I go up on tiptoe, loop my hands behind his neck, and pull him down, planting my lips right on his in a hot kiss. I pour out every last bit of my frustration and disappointment as I lean into him. I’m totally using him, and I have no idea if he realizes it or not. Easing back just far enough to look into his eyes, I swallow hard.
“This is unexpected.” He only hesitates a split second before his lips twitch into a devilish smile and his arms wrap around me, drawing me closer. My eyes crash shut as his lips slant over mine, hungry.
It’s not unpleasant. In fact, Griffin really knows what he’s doing, and I surrender to it. His lips rub mine, and soon his kisses become greedier. One hand slides up my back to my neck, gripping me tighter.
My heart stutters and cries.
I open my mouth anyway, allowing Griffin to plunge his tongue inside. It twists and curls with mine, stroking and exploring, all while his buddies behind us go crazy, lifting their arms in the air and strutting around—as if this has anything to do with any of them. The stuff out of their mouths is somewhat satisfying, though, and lends itself perfectly to my goal.
There’s a holler of, “Griff is the man!”
A rough, “Goddamn, she’s hot! Who the hell is that?”
“I’m next. Me next, please!”
“If she’s like this in public, imagine what she’d be like in bed.”
“Fuuuck, yessssss!”
I lose track of who says what, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t really know most of these guys that well, anyway. What they think doesn’t matter. I just need Micah to see this.
Need him to watch another guy touching me, kissing me.
Need to show him he hasn’t hurt me.
Not one little bit.