Are you fucking kidding me? Does everyone end up making their way to Seattle?

“Jonah,” he corrects her. He pushes his hand into the space between us for a handshake that I’m too thrown off to deny.

chapter

one hundred and sixteen

HARDIN

Tessa’s professor smiles, checking her out fairly subtly as he does so. But I see it clearly.

“Nice to see you again,” he says, but I can’t tell if he’s talking to me or Tessa, really, the way he moves about to the music.

“Professor Soto lives in Seattle now,” Tessa informs me.

“Convenient,” I say under my breath. Tessa hears me and gently nudges me with her elbow, and I wrap my arm around her waist.

Jonah’s eyes briefly note where I’ve placed my arm, then move back up to her face. She’s taken, dick.

“Yeah, I transferred to the Seattle campus a couple weeks ago. I applied for a job a few months back and finally got it. My band was ready for a move anyway,” he tells us with an attitude that indicates he thinks we should care about any of this.

“The Reckless Few will be playing here tonight, and every other night, if we can talk them into it,” Christian boasts. Jonah smiles and looks down at his boots.

“I think that might be possible,” he says, looking back up with a smile. Finishing his drink in one motion, he says, “Well, we better get ready to play.”

“Yeah. Don’t let us keep you.” Christian pats Soto on the back, and the professor turns to give Tessa one last smile before pushing through the small crowd toward the stage.

“The band is incredible; wait until you hear them!” Vance claps his hands together once before he wraps his arms around Kimberly and leads her to a table in front of the stage.

I’ve already heard them; they are not incredible.

Tessa turns to me with nervous eyes. “He’s nice. Remember, he gave you a character witness when you were about to be expelled?”

“No, I don’t recall anything about him, actually. Except for the fact that he seems to like you and is mysteriously living in Seattle now, teaching at your fucking campus.”

“You heard him say that he applied there months ago . . . and he does not like me.”

“He does.”

“You think everyone likes me,” she fires back. She can’t possibly be naive enough to assume that this guy has good intentions.

“Shall we make a list, then? There’s Zed, fucking Trevor, that dickhead of a waiter . . . who am I missing? Oh, and now we can add your creepy professor, who was just eyeing you like you were dessert.” I look to where that dick is on the little bandstand, walking about with an attitude that’s both self-important and fake-casual.

“Zed is the only person on that list that counts. Trevor is very sweet, and he never meant any harm. I’ll probably never see Robert again, and Soto is not a stalker.”

One word in that spiel doesn’t sit well with me. “ ‘Probably’?”

“I obviously won’t see him again. You’re the one I’m with, okay?” She pushes one of her hands into mine, and I relax. I need to make sure I burned or flushed that damned waiter’s phone number, just in case.

“I still think this asshole is a stalker.” I nod toward the stage at the douche bag in his leather jacket. I may need to talk to my father just to make sure he isn’t as shady as I think he is. Tessa would approach a lion with fucking kid gloves—she’s no good at judging character.

She proves my point when she beams up at me, smiling like an idiot because of the champagne running through her veins. She’s actually here with me after all the shit I’ve put her through . . .

“I thought this was a jazz club, but his band is more—” Tessa begins to try and take my mind off the seemingly endless list of men who want her affection.

“Shitty?” I interrupt her.

She swats my arm. “No, just not jazz music. They are more . . . like the Fray, sort of.”

“The Fray? Don’t go insulting your favorite band, now.” The only thing I remember about the professor’s band is that they fucking suck.

She bumps her shoulder against my arm. “And yours.”

“Not quite.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like them; I know you do.” She squeezes my hand, and I shake my head, not denying it, really, but I’m not going to admit it either.

I stare back and forth between the wall and Tessa’s tits while waiting for the godforsaken band to set up.

“Can we just go now?” I ask.

“One song.” Tessa’s cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are wide and glossy. She takes another drink. Her hands run over her dress, tugging it down and up at once.

“Can I at least sit down?” I nod toward line of empty stools at the bar.

I take Tessa’s hand in my own and pull her to the bar. I sit on the last stool, closest to the wall and farthest from the crowd.

“What are you having?” a young man with a goatee and a fake-ass Italian accent asks us.

“A glass of champagne and a water,” I say as Tessa moves to stand between my legs. I rest one hand on the small of her back, the beads of her dress rough against my palm.

“We only sell champagne by the bottle, sir.” The bartender gives me an apologetic smile as if he’s sure I couldn’t afford a bottle of his fucking champagne.

“A bottle will be fine.” Vance’s voice sounds next to me, and the bartender nods, looking back and forth between the two of us.

“She’ll have it chilled,” I cockily remark.

The kid nods again and scurries away to fetch the bottle. Dick.

“Stop babysitting us,” I tell Vance. Tessa scowls at me, but I ignore her.

He rolls his eyes like the sarcastic twit he is. “I’m clearly not babysitting you. She’s underage.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. Someone calls his name, and he pats my shoulder before walking off.

A few moments later, the bartender pops a bottle of champagne open and pours the bubbling liquid into a glass for Tessa. She politely thanks him, and he responds with a smile even more artificial than his accent. His little pantomime of cool is killing me.

She brings the glass to her lips and rests her back against my chest. “It’s so good.”

Just then, two men walk by and give her a quick glance. She notices; I know she does, because she leans further into me and lays her head against my shoulder.

“There’s Sasha,” she says over the sound of Professor Stalker’s guitar being tested on the sound equipment. The tall blonde is searching the room, either for her boyfriend or a random dude to nail.

“Who cares?” I gently grip her elbow and turn her to face me.

“I don’t like her,” she quietly states.

“No one does.”

“You don’t?” she asks.

Is she insane? “Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes move to my mouth. “Because she’s pretty.”

“So?”

“I don’t know . . . I’m just being weird.” She shakes her head in an attempt to get rid of the resentment that is clear on her face.

“Are you jealous, ‘Theresa’?”

“No.” She pouts.

“You shouldn’t be.” I open my legs further and pull her against me again. “That’s not what I want.” I move my eyes to her nearly exposed chest. “You are.” I trace the line of her cleavage with my index finger as if we aren’t in a crowded club.

“Only for my boobs.” She whispers the last word.

“Obviously.” I chuckle, teasing her.

“I knew it.” Tessa pretends to be offended but smiles over the rim of her glass.

“Yeah, well, now that the truth is out, you can let me fuck them,” I say, much too loud.

Champagne spurts out of her mouth and onto my shirt and lap.

“Sorry!” she squeals, reaching for the napkin bin on the bar. She dabs the napkin across this fucking horrendous monstrosity of a shirt and then moves to wipe at my crotch.