Page 23 of Not Safe for Work

Against my better judgment, I inhale deeply, filtering the smell of babbling brooks down through my lungs, where it settles just beneath my navel.

Rafe shifts again, draping his arm over the back of my chair as he leans forward to speak with a guy across the table. His actions seem reflexive because he’s ignoring me entirely. While it frees up a few inches of space, the side-effect is that I’m now pressed along the shape of his ribs with my shoulder cradled in the nook under his arm.

Our previous position was a cool arctic breeze compared to how I’m currently boiling under my skin. Andy is still talking, and eventually, he has to notice I’m not really listening.

Suddenly, I wonder what it would be like to just sink entirely against Rafe? To lay my head on the swell of his shoulder? To slide my palm flat against his—I go rigid, banishing my thoughts into an iron box sealed with titanium chains.

Andy has finally gone silent, drawing my attention to where he’s staring at Rafe’s hand, casually dangling over my chair. I witness the scene from his perspective. To a casual observer, it might seem like Rafe is staking a claim, and a bead of sweat meanders down the length of my spine. But Andy has this all wrong.

“You need another drink?” Rafe asks, his mouth so close to my ear that I leap an inch from my chair.

“What?” I’m not entirely in control of myself right now.

“A drink? Yours is empty.”

I look down at my glass, and sure enough, my mocktail is gone. I barely remember drinking it. The ache in my temple has returned, and I massage the corners of my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. I need to lie down.

“I think I’m okay,” I say carefully, studying him closely with a skeptical eye.

“You look a little flushed,” Andy says. “Do you want to go for a walk? Get some air? It’s a really nice evening.” He says it pointedly to Rafe in a challenge that he bats away. At least there’s one other person in this room Rafe refuses to smile at.

A shooting pain climbs over my scalp, and I try to stand, but I’m nailed to my chair. It’s Rafe’s arm. His scalding muscular arm has snaked its way around my waist, pressing an inferno of heated flesh against my back.

“Why don’t you stay?” he asks, still speaking into my ear, his breath pulling up gooseflesh across my skin. What’s happening? Why is he doing this?

I turn my head to find his mouth so close to mine that his exhale ghosts against my lips. I know he feels the shiver that works through every crevice of my soul because his eyes darken to the shade of hundred-year-old bourbon.

“Because I want to leave,” I say.

“Okay,” he says. “But have a glass of water first. You look like you’re about to faint.”

Sure. No. Why is he being so bossy? I want to lie down, but I can feel Rafe’s thigh touching mine, and my synapses have short-circuited.

“Run along, Andy,” he continues.

My hand moves of its own accord, gripping Rafe’s forearm. This is my kryptonite. My silver bullet. My stake through the heart. His arm flexes, and it takes a moment to settle the flutter between my thighs.

But then my mind clears, and I wonder who the fuck he thinks he is. It’s clear Rafe doesn’t care for Andy, but I don’t belong to him. I’ll do what I want with who I want.

I shove him off, leaping to stand up.

“Let’s go,” I say to Andy, ensuring my purse is secured across my body.

Andy stands, but Rafe grabs my wrist. “Tris. Don’t leave.”

I inhale a shuddering breath, exasperation swelling in my chest, threatening to crack a rib.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” I gesture to Rafe, pointing to the corner like a schoolteacher who’s over everyone’s shit. Then I march away, spinning around and folding my arms over my chest while he jogs over.

“What?” he asks, running his hand through his hair, blasting through all my defenses. It’s like he knows exactly what that does to me. He stands so close that I have to look up.

Dark lashes frame deep brown eyes flecked with the tiniest golden sparks.

“What are you doing? We agreed to stay away from one another. Why are you interfering?”

He steps even closer, his hand gently circling my bicep, and my heart does an erratic leap in my chest. “Andy isn’t a good guy. Don’t go anywhere with him.”

I blink through a tangled nest of thoughts and emotions that straddle many lines between confused and annoyed. “I don’t know what your problem with him is, but I can handle myself.”