Through the Lens (Click Duet #1) (Bay Area Duet Series) by Persephone Autumn (best book club books .txt) 📕

That’s it. I have had it. I shove against Gavin’s chest. Hard. “Okay, okay. We all get it. You both have dicks. Could you stop being one so we can have a good time? I don’t plan to spend my evening defending myself against testosterone.”

I watch as he stares at Jonas, jaw clenched, before he softens his features and shifts to look at me. “Sure thing. Let’s have some fun.”

And before I realize what is happening, he bends down and kisses the corner of my mouth. I don’t respond. No flinch. No kiss in return. Nothing.

Instead, fire ignites in my chest and radiates through every molecule in my body. Fire from feeling his lips on me again. But also because he did it to use me as a pawn. And I am no one’s pawn. How can desire and anger be so in unison? I don’t have the answer, but they both flood my veins like the Nile. Fuel my indignation. And slowly steal every bit of happiness I had about having a night out with friends.

I stare up into his eyes, his face a look of victory. But I am ready to slap it right off his pretty little lips.

Pressing up on my toes and leaning toward his ear, I whisper-hiss, “If you ever try to use me like I’m some sort of prize again, you’ll wish you’d never returned here.”

I step back and set my expression to a level so frigid he shivers. We stare at each other a minute. His eyes never leave mine. They ask me a million questions regarding me and Jonas and him. But I hold my ground. Jonas is my friend and I made that abundantly clear to him when I invited him. If he can’t handle me having other men in my life, then this second chance at whatever will end faster than it began.

He nods and his lips move without sound, I’m sorry.

I give him a tight smile and return to my friends. Erin joined us sometime during that whole showdown. Sitting between Jonas and Erin, I watch as Shelly types names on the screen—giving each of us an alternate identity.

I have been dubbed “The Raven.” Shelly “The Queen.” Jonas landed “The Machine.” Erin bows at “The Peacekeeper.” Micah gets “The Asshole.” Because that is what happens when your sister picks your name. And Gavin receives “The Dreamer.”

Everyone except me questions their names and tells her to change them. The raven suits me on many levels, and the temporary nickname perks my lips. First and foremost, black is life. Second, intelligence. No doubt there are plenty more sufficient reasons, but I will just stick with those two.

Once everyone stops antagonizing Shelly about name changes, bowling balls are chosen and the game begins. Five minutes into the first game, the bright fluorescent bulbs go out and are replaced with black lights and flashing party lights. A DJ belts out of the speakers and prattles on about people coming to the booth for music requests.

The first of many remixed or electronic songs comes on and I start bopping in my seat. Erin currently rolls her ball down the lane, a sad puppy expression on her face when she turns after only knocking one pin down. My hand comes up in a rock on gesture and I smile at her in encouragement. Her next ball yields seven more pins and she walks away with a smile.

“That’s my girl,” I holler. Her beaming smile is the best response and I put my hand up for a high five.

Frames are played and pitchers of beer and greasy pizza get ordered as laughter and goofiness ensue. For the next two hours, everything goes well. No testosterone battles. No bitching. It almost feels like old times.

Until one minor touch.

I grab my ball from the return, shift into the approach area and line my feet where I typically set them. Lifting the ball, I hold it steady and study the pins in front of me. When ready, I take a left-right-left, followed by a swing back and release as I swing forward. Normally, the ball would glide off my fingers and spin down the lane, the marble pattern hypnotizing on its path to the pins.

But that is not what happens.

What actually occurs is left-right-left, swing back, a smack to the leg and a twist of the ankle as the ball flies backward. It hurts like a son of a bitch and I cry out as I crumple to the floor.

Within seconds, Jonas is at my side, asking if I am okay. When I let him know I will be fine and I just need to sit a minute, he offers to help me up. Up to this point, everything is okay and I realize this because Gavin and Micah had walked off to get more beer.

The moment I stand upright, Jonas steadies me with both his hands resting on my shoulders, his eyes scrutinizing my face. “You sure you’re good?”

“Yeah. Thanks for helping me up.”

And that is when it happens. When the shit hits the fan.

Jonas brings his hand to my cheek, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone and down to my jaw. He tugs lightly on strands of my hair before swiping them behind my ear. The gesture is tender and sweet and is taken away the second Gavin is within eyeshot.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Gavin rages, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“What’s your deal, man? She just hurt herself and I was helping,” Jonas charges back.

Gavin takes two steps closer. “I can see you helping. Keep your fucking hands to yourself, asshole.”

What the actual fuck?

“Gavin,” I soothe. “Jonas was helping me. I hit my leg with the ball and fell. He was making sure I was okay and helped me stand back up. You’d know that if you were here.” My voice transitions from soothing to bold to anger in a