Chapter 8: Mine in the Mess

Cody POV

I sit on a wobbly stool in this dive bar, sipping a cold beer. The place smells like old wood and spilled drinks. Lights flicker dim above us. Music hums low from a jukebox in the corner. Ryan’s next to me, leaning close, his knee brushing mine under the table. He’s telling me some dumb story about a dog he saw today, barking at a skateboard. His grin’s big, eyes sparkling. I laugh, easy and warm, my chest light. Last night’s photo on his phone still nags me, but right now, it’s just us. Me and him. I want to forget the rest.

He takes a swig of his beer, throat moving as he swallows. I watch too long, heat creeping up my neck. He catches me staring and winks. “You’re cute,” he says, voice low. My face burns. I kick his shin light under the table. He laughs, loud and free. My heart flips. I love that sound.

Then some guy slides up. Tall, skinny, with a goofy smile. He plops right next to Ryan, too close. “Hey, man, you’re Ryan Maddox, right?” he says, voice loud over the music. His hand lands on Ryan’s arm, fingers squeezing. He laughs big, like it’s a joke only he gets. Ryan nods, polite but stiff. “Yeah, that’s me,” he says, shifting a little. The guy doesn’t move. Keeps talking. Keeps touching. His laugh grates on me, sharp and fake.

My gut twists hard. I grip my beer tighter. The glass is cold, wet in my hand. I try to breathe, but it’s stuck. Ryan’s mine. Not this guy’s. I watch his fingers linger on Ryan’s sleeve, and something snaps. Jealousy flares hot in my chest. I slam my beer down. It thuds loud on the table. Foam spills over the edge. Ryan looks at me, eyes wide. “Cody?” he says, but I’m already moving.

I grab his wrist, firm and quick. “Come on,” I mutter, pulling him off the stool. He stumbles a little, following me. I don’t look back at the guy. My blood’s pounding in my ears. I drag Ryan through the crowd, past sticky tables and loud drunks. The bathroom’s at the back. I shove the door open. It bangs against the wall. Inside smells like soap and damp tiles. I push him against the sink, hands on his chest. He hits it with a grunt, staring at me.

“You’re mine,” I growl, low and rough. I crash my mouth into his. Hard. Possessive. My lips smash against his, teeth scraping his bottom one. He tastes like beer and him, sharp and good. My hands fist his shirt, pulling tight. He groans loud, deep in his throat. It shakes me up. Then he moves. Fast. He flips us. My back slams the mirror. It’s cold through my shirt. His hands pin my hips, fingers digging in. He grinds into me. His jeans press tight. I feel him, hard and hot. I’m hard too. My breath catches.

“Only yours,” he rasps, voice scratchy. His mouth finds my jaw, sucking hard. A wet bruise blooms there. I tilt my head back, gasping. His kisses are wet, frantic, moving down my neck. I grab his hair, tugging sharp. He growls again, pushing harder. Our hips rock together, desperate. Jeans rub rough, but it’s good. Too good. My legs shake. I can’t think. Just feel. Him. Us.

The door rattles. Someone bangs on it, yelling, “Hurry up!” I don’t care. Neither does he. We’re too lost. His tongue slides back into my mouth, hot and deep. I match him, kissing messy. My hands slide under his shirt, feeling skin. Warm. Smooth. His abs flex under my fingers. He humps me faster, panting into my lips. I moan loud, can’t stop it. He laughs, breathless, against my mouth. It’s shaky, happy. “You’re wild,” he says between kisses.

“You made me,” I say back, grinning. My voice trembles. We slow a little, catching air. His hands loosen on my hips, but stay there. Holding me. I lean into him, forehead on his. My chest heaves. His does too. Sweat sticks my shirt to my back. The mirror’s foggy where I hit it. We laugh again, soft and tired. “That guy’s nothing,” he says, kissing my nose quick.

“Good,” I say, firm. My jealousy fades, but my grip on him doesn’t. I need him close. We pull apart slow, fixing our shirts. My lips feel swollen. His look red, shiny. I want to kiss him again. Always. He slings an arm around my shoulders, heavy and warm. “Let’s go,” he says. I nod, legs still wobbly.

We step out. The guy’s gone. Good. The bar’s louder now, people shouting over the music. We slide back to our table. My beer’s still there, half spilled. Ryan grabs his, takes a sip. His arm stays around me, a silent claim. Our thighs press tight under the table. His knee bumps mine, on purpose. I smile, small and secret. My hand rests on his leg, squeezing light. He leans close, breath on my ear. “You’re hot when you’re mad,” he whispers. I blush hard, shoving him playful. He laughs, pulling me tighter.

We sit there, sipping slow. The bar hums around us. A guy stumbles past, slurring a song. A lady yells at the bartender. It’s messy, alive. I feel Ryan’s heartbeat through his shirt, steady against my side. My fingers trace circles on his thigh. He shifts, pressing closer. “You okay?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah,” I say. “Now.” He smiles, real and warm. My chest feels full again. Too full. I lean my head on his shoulder, just for a second. He doesn’t pull away. His hand finds mine under the table, lacing our fingers. It’s sweet. Quiet. Ours.

Then glass shatters. Loud. Sharp. I jump, head snapping up. A beer bottle smashes on the floor nearby. People yell, turning to look. Ryan’s arm tightens around me. “What the hell?” he mutters. My pulse races again. He pulls me closer, protective. “Cody, stay with me,” he whispers, urgent. His eyes dart around, worried. Before I can answer, a guy staggers toward us, fists clenched, face red. He’s glaring. Straight at Ryan.