much like her mother," he said. "Her smarts, her laugh — those come from her mother, too. Her stubbornness, now that's something she gets from me."
"I'd call it tenacity,” I responded.
"Whatever it is, she has it in spades," he joked. "I think she's still miffed about the job." He tilted his head thoughtfully and tracked Savannah's movements toward the bar. "She thinks she got it because of nepotism."
"Weston isn't like that." I kept my eyes on the dance floor, on the DJ, on the seating areas that lined the rooftop–anywhere but on Savannah, afraid that he'd see right through me. "I think she just wants to prove herself. You show her she can do that with the Raptors, and she'll be okay."
He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then shook his head slightly. "I almost forget that you two have practically grown up next to each other for the last five years."
"True," I admitted, then chugged the rest of my water, wishing it were something a hell of a lot stronger.
"Thanks for always watching out for her," he said, clapping my back.
Before I could give into the nausea churning in my stomach and admit just how bad of a job I was doing in that department, someone behind us called his name, and he excused himself, leaving me at the railing.
Savannah had returned to the dance floor, and I stood there, watching her dance, holding my empty glass. If that wasn't a metaphor for what my life had become, then I wasn't sure what was.
Somewhere in the last six weeks, I'd developed feelings for Savannah. I craved her presence, her laugh, her opinion, just as fiercely as her body.
What the hell was I going to do about it?
I watched her blow off the advances of three separate guys, my temper ticking higher with each one, until I put my glass on the table behind me for fear of shattering it. What the hell kind of right did any of those assholes have to hit on my woman?
She's not your woman. Not really.
My blood ran hot, and suddenly I felt like the Neanderthal she accused me of being weeks ago. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out. I wanted every man in this place to know she was mine. Hell, I wanted every woman I had studiously ignored since I got here to know I belonged to Savannah.
As if one of them had read my mind, a blonde appeared on my left with an open invitation in her eyes and a bold reach for my hand.
"Hey, Hendrix," she whispered in that sex kitten purr that would have gotten me this time last year.
"Not tonight," I said in blatant dismissal. Not ever, was more like it, but I was already halfway down the stairs before I thought to correct my statement.
I cut through the crowd, ignoring the reach of strange hands and even the sound of my name being called a time or two.
When I found Savannah, a frat-looking asshole was doing his best to snake his arm around her waist.
She shook her head as I reached her side.
"Fuck off,” I told the guy over the beat, looking him square in the eye so he knew I was serious.
His eyes widened, and he turned his attention to London. Class act.
"Hendrix?” Savannah asked, raising her eyebrows. I was in clear violation of our ignore each other in public policy, but I didn't give a damn.
I leaned close and put my lips to her ear. "I'm going home. It's killing me to keep my hands off you."
"I know," she replied, lightly gripping my wrist. "Give me fifteen minutes so it doesn't look like we left together."
"I'm already hard for you," I admitted, my voice dropping low.
"Make that ten minutes."
I nodded once, then walked out of the club before I did something stupid like take her with me.
My mind raced as I drove home, spinning through every possibility, every way I could keep her in my life. If I came clean to her dad, would he understand? Would he realize my heart was involved in this relationship and not just my dick?
I didn't have any answers by the time I parked in my garage, but I knew I couldn't let her go—not unless she wanted out.
If that was the case, I'd take it on the chin. But if she felt even half of what I did for her, we had to find a way.