Somewhere in the Middle

Fuck Off

Jamie looked around, but couldn't see much. Blurs of movement—people lit up only for a moment by a quick-moving swatch of light—barely held his attention. Indistinguishable faces were glistening with sweat, hairlines were beading with more moisture, makeup was smeared across smiling lips, and laughter went silent, dulled by the pounding beat of house music.

Nate grabbed his arm. "I see something I like," he said, and was gone.

Jamie could never seem to move that quickly. He always needed a couple of drinks first.

"Whiskey. On the rocks," he said to the bartender, squeezed tightly between people who didn't know who he was. Either that, or they didn't care.

It worked for him regardless.

He let his eyes sweep over the dark expanse of the bar again, felt moisture on his lip and licked the salty sweat away, taking in the mass of people with very little interest. Until he spotted the one person he had never expected to see.

"Here you go," the bartender said in such a way that Jamie knew she was repeating herself.

Jamie tossed a bill onto the counter without glancing to see how much it was and took his drink, heading for the other end of the bar.

He pushed and shoved through people, anger simmering over an ever-growing heat somewhere within him. There were outraged cries of "Hey!" then, "Watch where you're going, asshole!" but he didn't care. He elbowed and squeezed his way through until he was there, standing in front of her, watching her smile, watching her laugh, almost as upset that he couldn't hear the sound of it as he was that she was there at all.

It took a moment longer than he thought it would, an extra moment that made the anger burn hotter. But when those green eyes flicked up to meet his, all wide and startled, his heart felt like it stopped beating.

"Jamie." He read the word on her lips, the music too loud for him to hear the sound of it.

He grabbed her arm then, yanking her forcefully from the table. There were shouts of alarm, of disdain, of outrage, but he only looked into her eyes again when her hand closed around his.

He was surprised to see anger there, burning brightly under furrowed brows.

"Get off of me!" Evie shouted loud and clear over the thumping bass.

Regret stabbed at him, and he let go immediately, letting her anger fuel his. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she countered. Her words were a little slurred, and Jamie was taken by surprise despite the fact that they were in a bar.

"Pete sent you here, didn't he?" Jamie growled, fuming to think that now they were sending the new girl to keep an eye on him. He didn't give her a chance to answer. "I don't need a babysitter, alright? So you can just fuck off."

He tried to walk away, but his drink spilled over the top of his hand when he was jerked backward, her grip strong on his arm.

"You're not the only one who's allowed to have a life outside of that damn bus!" she shouted at him, her words less sluggish than they were a moment ago, and they cut like the edge of a knife. "So, maybe get your head out of your own ass every once in a while. And don't you dare touch me like that again."

Too surprised to come back with a quick remark, he scrambled, trying to come up with something to say. They were at a standoff—his fists clenched, his teeth grinding together, her eyes blazing, brow furrowed, head held high—as if they were daring the other to falter.

He stared at her, into the depths of those eyes, saw the hard outer layer of anger—she was more pissed than he'd even think she was capable of—but deeper, the longer he stared, there was also a flicker of uncertainty, of something like fear.