Damn Her

Elliot-flashback

I should’ve just kept walking. Minded my own business. But the sight of her standing there with some guy, laughing softly under the faint glow of the streetlights, froze me in my tracks.

I didn’t recognize him...some tall, broad-shouldered guy with an easy smile and an irritating air of familiarity. He leaned toward her just slightly, like they were sharing some inside joke, and she didn’t pull away. She smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear, and it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I wasn’t supposed to care. I had no right to. But damn it, I did.

I could feel my pulse quicken, a tightness creeping into my chest. I clenched my fists, trying to convince myself to let it go. It was probably nothing. Just a casual conversation. But my feet had other plans.

Before I knew it, I was striding across the courtyard, closing the distance between us in what felt like seconds.

She noticed me first. Her smile faltered, her eyes widening in surprise. "Elliot?"

The guy turned, looking me over like he was sizing me up. His expression was polite but cautious, and that only fueled the fire simmering inside me.

"Hey," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. I didn’t bother acknowledging the guy. My focus was entirely on her.

"Elliot, this is..."

I didn’t let her finish. The jealousy clawing at me was irrational, maybe even ridiculous, but it was also unstoppable. I grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to me, and before she could protest, my lips crashed into hers.

She froze for a split second, her body tense against mine, but then I felt her relax, her hands instinctively gripping my shoulders. The world around us blurred and faded, and all I could focus on was the taste of her, the way she fit so perfectly in my arms.

When I finally pulled back, I kept her close, my forehead resting against hers. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted, and she looked utterly stunned.

"Uh...I’ll just...go," the guy stammered, awkwardly backing away.

I didn’t even spare him a glance. My eyes stayed locked on hers, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

"Elliot," she finally whispered, her voice shaky but not angry.

"You don’t have to explain," I said quietly, my voice softening. "I just..."

She cut me off, her hand sliding to the back of my neck. "You’re an idiot."

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away. "Yeah, maybe I am."

She smiled then, and for the first time that evening, I felt like I could breathe again.

****

Elliot

By the time the gala was in full swing, I was on my third glass of champagne, my patience wearing dangerously thin. The room was buzzing with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but all I could focus on was Susan.

She was standing across the room, chatting animatedly with some finance hotshot who had been sticking to her like glue since dinner. The guy was charming, I’d give him that, with his perfectly styled hair and overpriced suit. And Susan, damn her, was smiling...her warm, brilliant smile that I hadn’t seen directed at me all evening.

Every laugh, every touch of her hand on his arm sent a sharp jab through me. Was she doing this on purpose? Was she trying to make me jealous? Because if she was, it was working.

Adrian sidled up beside me, his drink in hand. "You look like you’re ready to murder someone. Careful, Elliot. You’re the host tonight."

"I’m fine," I said through clenched teeth, though my gaze betrayed me, glued to Susan and her new admirer.

Adrian chuckled. "Ah, I see. It’s Susan, isn’t it?" He followed my line of sight, grinning knowingly. "Relax, brother. She’s just being polite."

Polite? Was he blind? That guy was practically drooling over her, and she wasn’t exactly discouraging him. I drained my glass and set it down with more force than necessary. "I don’t care what she’s doing," I lied.

"Sure, you don’t," Adrian said, clearly enjoying my misery.

I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right. Instead, I muttered something about needing air and strode toward the balcony, ignoring the curious looks from a few guests as I passed.

But just as I reached the doors, I heard her laugh...a soft, musical sound that used to belong to me. I turned, and there she was, tilting her head slightly as that bastard leaned in too close.

That was it. My restraint snapped.

I crossed the room in long, deliberate strides, reaching them just as he said something that made her laugh again.

"Mind if I steal her for a moment?" I said, my tone deceptively calm.

The guy looked startled but recovered quickly, flashing me a tight smile. "Of course not."

Susan arched an eyebrow at me, clearly unimpressed. "Elliot, I was in the middle of a conversation."

"So was I," I shot back, taking her arm gently but firmly. "Excuse us."

She didn’t resist as I led her toward a quieter corner of the room, but the moment we were out of earshot, she pulled her arm free and turned to face me, her eyes blazing.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed.

"I could ask you the same thing," I snapped. "What were you doing with him?"

"Talking," she said, throwing her hands up. "It’s called networking, Elliot. You should try it sometime."

"Networking? Is that what they’re calling it now?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You’re unbelievable. Do you think you own me or something?"

"No," I said quickly, too quickly. "But you don’t have to flirt with every guy who gives you attention."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, that’s rich coming from you. You spent the whole night glued to that blonde with the fake laugh and the too-tight dress."

"I wasn’t glued to anyone!" I protested.

"Really? Because from where I was standing, it sure looked like it. You even offered her your arm at dinner, Elliot!"

I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated beyond words. "I was being polite."

"So was I," she shot back, her voice rising slightly.

We stood there, glaring at each other, neither willing to back down. Around us, the gala continued, oblivious to the storm brewing in our corner.

Finally, she shook her head, a humorless smile on her lips. "You know what? Forget it. I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time arguing with you."

Before I could respond, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high. I watched her go, the urge to call her back warring with my pride.

Instead, I grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it in one go.

Damn her. Damn her for making me feel this way, and damn myself for caring.