Meet Me at Midnight

07 | Lines You Don't Cross

Nick

I lose sight of her for less than ten minutes and in that time, some asshole thinks it is his lucky night. At first, I didn't understand what was going on. From where I stood, all I saw was some drunk asshole trying his best to flirt with my stubborn girl. But then I notice the uncomfortable stance. The panicked eyes darting around the room. I see his hand gripping her arm.

The blood drains from my head so fast I am across the room before I even think about it.

"Carl, that is enough," the bartender snaps, stepping in like he has done this a hundred times before which honestly annoys me more. If he is a known creep, why is he allowed in here?

The guy lets go, too slow for my liking and Stella yanks her arm free, stumbling back like she is trying to escape more than just him. I watch her. Not the i***t still grinning at the bar. Not the useless crowd. Only her.

She looks rattled, shaken in a way Stella never lets herself be. Her face is pale under the flashing lights, her eyes wide and glassy. She rubs her arm like it still burns. She takes off disappearing into the crowd. Without thinking, I follow her. I do not care who sees. I do not care what it looks like.

"Hey!" Lisa, some chick I just met yells after me, but I don't bother turning back to acknowledge her. I know that tone of voice all too well and this chick won't take rejection lightly, so I choose to ignore her and bail. Easier that way and let's be real, nothing was going to happen between me and her. She's not my type, but she was good enough to try and rile up some jealousy from a certain someone.

I shove through the sea of people, ignoring the hands that reach out, the people laughing and shouting. All I can focus on is her and the way she moves like she is trying to outrun herself. I catch her just outside the club, the cold air slamming into us both like a slap. Her breath mists in the air, her arms wrapped around herself.

"Stella," I say, but she flinches at the sound of my voice. She does not turn around. She does not slow down. She is breaking apart in front of me and I hate it. I hate that I let it happen. I hate that someone else touched her before I could stop it. I hate that she would rather freeze out here than let me close enough to fix it.

I grab her arm, regretting it instantly. I'm not that guy, I don't want her flinching at my touch. I let go and beg her to face me, placing my hand over hers, and she stiffens but does not pull away.

"Hey," I say, softer. "Look at me." For a long second, she doesn't. Then slowly, she turns and damn it, the look on her face guts me. She is furious. She is humiliated. She is barely holding herself together with duct tape and stubbornness and I know part of that is my fault.

I'll admit there is nothing I love more than making Stella jealous, or crazy, or anything to get her attention, but tonight is different. I don't want to be the reason she has that look on her face.

"I am fine," she says, the words clipped and cold.

"Bullshit," I growl.

She jerks her arm out of my grip. "I don't need you playing my knight in shining armor, Nick. Go back inside. Find someone else to save. You seemed to be pretty happy to have that blonde on your arm, so go be with her."

"You think I am doing this for show?" My voice rises, sharper than I mean it to be. "You think I like seeing you like this? You think I am standing here freezing my ass off because it is fun?"

She glares at me, arms folded tight across her chest like a shield. "Exactly," she snaps. "Why are you even here?" she snaps. I don't answer, because what a stupid question. "Why are you here, at this club when you should be with the groom doing whatever it is you do as the best man."

"Why am I here?" I repeat, "because you are," I fire back, stepping in closer with full intent this time. The words hang there between us, raw and stupid and true.

She looks up at me like she doesn't know whether to slap me or kiss me and f**k, I wish she would do it. And honestly, either would be fine with me.

"That guy in there, he touched you," I say, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "And you think I am just going to watch that happen?" She scoffs. Rolls her eyes.

God, she is infuriating.

"I handled it," she bites out. I shake my head.

"Not the point, princess." I say, stepping closer until there is no space left between us. "He never should have laid a damn finger on you in the first place." She opens her mouth to argue, of course she does, but I cut her off. "You deserve better, Stella. Better than him. Better than drunk assholes thinking they have a chance. Better than pretending you do not need anyone. Better than me."

Her lips part, a sharp retort loading on her tongue, but it never comes out. Because in that moment, standing there in the freezing cold with the bass of the club pounding behind us and the whole damn world spinning too fast, she looks at me like she finally sees it. Sees me.

And I know if I move even an inch closer, if I reach out and touch her, we will not come back from it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. But damn it, for once, I don't want to play it safe.

I take one step closer. She does not move. Another step. Still, she stays. Our breath mingles in the cold. Her pretty eyes flick to my mouth, then back up to meet mine. It is the only permission I am going to get.

"Say something," I murmur, my voice rough. Her hand twitches at her side like she is fighting herself. Like she wants to push me away and pull me closer at the same time.

Finally, she speaks. A whisper against the ice in the air."I hate you."