I bounce between bodies like a pinball as I fight my way to the bar. Elbows jab into my sides, shoulders ram into my head. Just another one of the perks of being five foot two. I can almost see the top of the bartender's head, when I feel a heel catch under my foot, sending me tumbling into the person in front of me.

"Hey, watch it, bitch!" a girl snarls, shoving me off with her arm. The smell of the whiskey on her breath hits me in waves. "The fuck is your problem?"

Bitch? Really?

I take a step back. Ever since we arrived, I feel like I've crossed over some invisible line and found myself in the middle of a Quentin Tarantino movie. I've heard more curse words than I do in a normal week—and I live with Becks—so, that's saying something.

"I'm so sorry," I say, watching her sway. The girl's dark brown eyes are almost predator-like as she scowls down at me from hooded lids. "I tripped and—"

"You're sorry?"

The guy she's with tries to pull her back while yelling all the ways that I'm not worth the energy.

Thanks?

But with a growl, his efforts are futile because she shoves his hands away, yelling, "You gotta be . . ." her words trail off into a garbled mess I can't decipher.

I bite my lip. Crap.

This girl looks like she's the type of person who loves getting into fights. She has, what my father calls, "the look." Blown-out eyes. Matted hair. The beaded, sweat-soaked forehead, and worn nails. She's either high, or currently coming down from one. And by the smell of her breath, anything could set her off.

It's then that a voice breaks through the crowd—deep, rich, and strangely . . . familiar.

"Is there a problem here?" the voice asks, and at the sound of it, all eyes drop to the floor.

If I were smart, I'd fall in suit with everyone else around me, but instead I do the opposite. The lure of suspicion wins out over my better judgement as I turn and come face to face with its owner. The second our eyes meet, I have to lock my knees so that I don't faint.

"Do I need to repeat the question?" he asks, his tone clipped and annoyed.

I feel my jaw drop as I take in a deep breath in an attempt to steady myself.

No.

It can't be.

"Theo? Y- You're back?" I stumble my words as I attempt to answer him. Knots form in my stomach and twist in a way that make me feel sick.

What the hell is he doing here?

Staring up at him clinically, it's easy to see why he's so handsome, with his dark green eyes and brown, slightly tousled hair. The exact type of guy I often try to avoid. He's too attractive for anything good to ever come out of dating a guy like him. The sort of guy who has more girls vying for his attention than he knows what to do with.

With his chiseled face and muscular frame—apparent even under his black T-shirt and jeans. For whatever reason, whatever it is, I'm immediately rendered defenseless. The only thing I hate more than feeling this way is the look on his face as if I had somehow disappointed him with my answer.

"It's good to see you, Brielle," he says. The corners of his lips pulling back into that devilish grin I've always loved. The memory of the last time I saw it is something I'm not ready to relive just yet.

I close my eyes, hearing the crowd around us take a collective breath and hold it as he steps in my direction. Should I be afraid like they all seem to be? The thought is there and gone before I have the chance to really think about it. I open my eyes.

"Why didn't you . . . you didn't reach out?"

It could have been the lights, or my imagination, but the second I finish, I swear its shock that crosses his face. Although as quickly as it appears, it's gone, leaving me to wonder if I'd imagined the whole thing.

"Didn't know I needed to," he says. His eyes linger for a moment longer before shifting to a figure standing a few feet beside me. "Devon, do I need to repeat myself?"

Devon?

I turn to the girl with the raven hair.

"Wait. You're asking me? This little tramp bumps into me, and you have the audacity to ask me if there is an issue? Me, Theo?"

Theo looks unfazed as he mutters a quick, "Yes."

Devon's body stills then in a terrifying way. The array of emotions that flash across her face are hard to keep up with. But, eventually, she collects herself. "I . . . apologize." Her tone is rigid. Each word laced with venom.

"Thank you. And like I said, I'm—"

"Great. Now that that's settled, leave," Theo interjects, his voice claiming the space and stopping me from finishing what I was about to say. "I'll cover the cab fare, but you can't stay here. I told you, I won't put up with you when you're like this," he finishes, his words dripping authority as he stares Devon down.

Rather than acknowledging his demands with a response, Devon simply turns and disappears into the crowd. Each step in the opposite direction sends a wave of shock, which penetrates the crowd and causes it to quickly disperse.

What the hell is that all about?

I've never known Theo to be so rude?

He made his point; he didn't have to keep embarrassing her in front of everyone.

"Brielle," Theo calls my name, the noticeable shift in his tone makes my head feel dizzy. "Hello?"

He edges closer when I don't answer him and moves until he's standing directly in front of me. I inhale a deep breath, cursing my own body as I feel my skin prickle at the nearness of him. He smells exactly as I remember—of mint and newly upholstered leather.

He scratches his stubble, and I swear he's covering a grin when he says, "Stunned silent. Now that's a side of Brielle I never thought I'd se—"

"You didn't have to do that. It wasn't even her fault, and she apologized," I say the words aloud before I realize I've said anything at all. "If anyone should be forced to leave, it's me."

"What's that? You want to know how I've been? Yeah, no, I've been great! Thanks for asking," Theo says. The cocky grin he's wearing, almost completely gone as he moves to step around me.

"What?" I hear the rise in my own voice, feeling as annoyed as he seems to be, but I can't stop. I follow him. "That's not what I asked, Theo!"

"Well, that's the only answer you're going to get. You have no clue what you're talking about." He whips around to face me, his tone is as cold as ice.

He takes a step closer. His shoulders are even with my eyes. I can't help but feel like he's testing me in some way.

Pushing me to see where my boundaries lie after all this time. Is he trying to dominate me? The question is there and gone before I have the chance to fully acknowledge it.

"Look, I don't know who you're here with. But, for your own good, it's probably best that you find them and leave. This isn't a playground for kids, and I don't have time to babysit."

Hearing his words, I blush and numbly take a step back.

His eyes bore into me with an intensity I'm unable to place. Curiosity? Amusement? Desire? My mind freezes then, tasting how ridiculous I sound. Desire? I shake my head at the thought. I must have forgotten who I was talking to. This is Theo after all. The guy who's always been too busy being everyone else's number one man, to ever stop and see what he has in front of him. Add in this new bad-boy persona he's adopted, and it's like I don't even recognize who he is anymore.

"I'm sorry. Who are you?" I manage to say.

The muscles along his chest flex as he inhales a deep breath. He's struggling with himself, and whatever it's about, it's winning. "Someone you should stay away from." He shifts his eyes. "You're not the only one whose changed, Brielle. But you're definitely too good to be hanging around here."

Glancing around, people have started to pick up on our history and are nosily circling us. Their questioning stares, and lingering curiosity, practically solidify every concern that tells me I should turn around and run. Fast. That this rude guy is not the same polo wearing, video game playing boy I knew growing up.

"Theo," I plead with him. But for what, I don't know.

I watch as he shakes his head. His hazel eyes peel off toward something in the distance, and I drop the hand I hadn't realized I was holding out to him.

"I can't," he says. The internal battle he seems to be waging drives him further away from me. His expression turns cold and distant. "You should go."

"Bree! There you are!" Luca's yells.

The wave of relief I feel, washes over me as I turn and find those soft blue eyes. "We were just looking for you. Becks is having a moment and—" Luca freezes midstep. His eyes shift up to the apparent stranger standing next to me, and if even possible, the air thickens to a more uncomfortable state. His gaze sweeps between Theo and me, and with a look of disgust, he mutters, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Wait. You're here with Luca?" Theo half laughs. His smile only mildly amused. The laugh itself is deep and would be attractive were he not using it to taunt Luca. He turns to face him. "Damn, and I thought my night couldn't get any worse."

Wait?

Did he say worse?

Luca narrows his eyes at Theo as he reaches out to pull me to his side. Theo tenses at the action, but thankfully he doesn't react.

"Thought you left town? If you cared at all, you'd do us all a favor and leave again."

"Luca!"

"Wow. Is that a threat, Garrett?" Theo says. His voice tight as each word is used to challenge Luca in a way that makes me increasingly uneasy. I see his hands curl into fists as he lifts his chest and takes a step in Luca's direction, the rich green of his hazel eyes darkening.

"You know exactly what it is, Wescott."

"Whoa. Okay. Enough." I push my way in between them. "Why don't you both just take a step back?"

I can feel the danger of the situation growing as I try to understand where it's coming from in the first place. When Theo left, we were all fine. What changed? I look down and notice Theo's hands, and the slight bruising scattered along his knuckles. What the hell? Someone you should stay away from, his warning echoes inside my mind. But as much as it probably should, it doesn't scare me. Theo may have changed, but I don't think for a second that he would ever hurt me.

I watch him smile as if he read my thoughts. But the smile is tight and doesn't reach his eyes. He looks to Luca, then back to me. "Fucking course," he says as a form of recognition slides across his face. "You two now, huh? Mason always said it would happen." He takes in an exaggerated breath. His eyes are still dark, but his expression is beginning to lighten.

Wait. What?

Hearing Mason's name, Luca places a hand along my lower back, and I fight the urge to remove it. It's been a while since anyone's been brave enough to openly mentioned my brother in front of me. Not because I didn't want them to, but because of what happened the night he died, and everything that's happened since.

"How dare you," Luca snaps. His words are rushed.

I wrinkle my brow up at him in hopes of ending whatever argument they're choosing to hash out in the middle of the club, but he ignores me or simply doesn't see.

"I see someone grew up and decided to finally grow some balls," Theo says without an ounce of humor. "I've already kicked your ass once, Garrett. Don't make me do it again in front of her."

"Okay, enough!" I yell when I catch them start to move again. I raise my hands and press a palm against each of their chests.

"It's not me you should be worried about," Luca says, while taking a step back. "It's him you have to watch yourself around. You haven't changed at all, have you Theo?"

I can tell by the rapid rise and fall of Theo's chest that his temper won't be so easily satiated. I turn to face him and look at my hand, noting how his chest is rock hard against my palm. I try not to let my mind run away with me as I think about what his chest might look like without his shirt on.

Is it covered in tattoos, too?

A couple of seconds pass before I recognize that Theo's breathing has slowed, and he's watching me. I lift my head and our eyes meet, and immediately he reacts to it; the color of his eyes lighten to a pale green. He raises his hand as if to cover mine, and it's then, in that moment—that lasts no longer than a second—that I can finally see the tiny resemblance of the old Theo. The sweet one, who would stay up late just to make sure that I made it home okay, and the one who was always so playful and fun. But in the blink of an eye, it vanishes. The hard-pressed, bad-tempered version of him seizes control.

I drop my hand.

"I . . . I need to find Becks."