Page 252 of Faking the Goal

Kentaro can flirt back.

The thought hurts enough that I immediately finish my drink.

Fuck this.

I came here to have fun.

"Let's just continue dancing."

Claire barely gets the chance to answer before I grab her hand and pull her farther into the crowd.

For the next half hour, I make a determined effort not to look toward Kentaro's direction again. I dance. I drink. I laugh when Claire nearly knocks into another girl and has to catch both of them. Someone buys us another round, and I stop keeping particularly careful track of how much I've had.

Eventually, the alcohol starts to take the edge off. I'm not drunk, just pleasantly tipsy enough that Emma Lennox finally stops occupying prime real estate in my brain and I can let the music do what I came here for. I close my eyes, move with the beat, and for a little while, there's no stalker, no fake relationship, no confusing feelings I don't know what to do with. Just music, heat, and the familiar relief of not having to think so damn much.

Claire eventually disappears back toward the booth, but I stay on the dance floor. A few seconds later, someone's hand settles on my hip and a guy moves in behind me, swaying along with the music. I vaguely recognize him from campus, though whatever class or party I've seen him at refuses to materialize through the pleasant haze in my head.

Normally, I would move away. Instead, I glance toward the crowd and catch sight of Kentaro coming straight toward us.

Well. This should be interesting.

He stops in front of me, his expression so calm it immediately puts me on alert. I know that look by now. Kentaro doesn't need to raise his voice or make a scene to be intimidating. Sometimes the quieter he gets, the more worried everyone around him should be.

His gaze drops to the hand still sitting on my hip, and something in his face goes frighteningly still.

"Get your fucking hands off my girlfriend."

The guy looks over my shoulder, recognition flashing across his face. "Azuma? Shit, man. I didn't know Taylor was your girlfriend."

Kentaro's eyes lift to his. "You know now."

The guy gives an awkward laugh, but his hand stays exactly where it is. "I just thought—"

"I don't give a fuck what you thought." Kentaro steps closer. "Move your hand."

My lips twitch.

The guy glances down at me, then back at Kentaro. "Relax, man. We're just dancing."

"I am relaxed."

Oh, bullshit.

I know that face, and there is absolutely nothing relaxed about it. His jaw is set, his eyes are fixed on the guy's hand, and every inch of him gives off the distinct impression that he is rapidly approaching the limit of his patience.

Some responsible part of my brain tells me I should probably intervene before this turns into something stupid.

Unfortunately, possessive Kentaro is doing things to me that make responsible decision-making increasingly difficult.

I really should not be enjoying this as much as I am.

And yet here I am, watching him act like some broody, territorial caveman while my traitorous body reacts in a way that is deeply unhelpful to the situation.

The guy still hasn't moved his hand.

Kentaro notices too. "You've got about three seconds before I move it for you."

Oh.