ASHLEY
“What the f**k was that, Beckett?”
Beckett doesn't answer. The damn bastard just keeps on dragging me into the hallway while I struggle to understand what Remy means by that. Again? Fighting over a girl again?
I'm so damn tipsy but I know what I heard.
“Let go,” I snap, heels skidding across marble. Seriously. What the hell does again mean? What the hell did he mean by again?”
Still nothing.
We make it halfway down the hall before I’ve had enough—I twist my arm, shove his shoulder, wine-slurred and furious. “f*****g talk to me!”
He stops.
Whips around so fast I nearly collide with him, and oh my god—there it is. That look. The one that makes sane girls walk away.
Beckett Langley doesn’t look mad. He looks lethal.
“That guy?” His voice is low, even, deadly calm. “You let
