Greek (Palm South University)

My palms are slick on the elevator ride down to the lobby, and when the doors slide open and I see Jarrett standing in the middle of the marble floor, my mouth goes dry.

His back is to me, lean and muscular, his hands sitting easily in his pockets. His head is smooth and freshly shaved, and he must sense me, because he turns — ever so slowly — until his dark eyes lock on mine.

He’s wearing an all-black outfit, just like me.

And he looks like every sin I’m trying not to commit.

A black tunic is tapered at his waist with a belt, the chest of it ripped open to show the muscles and tattoos underneath. He’s shoved the sleeves up to just below his elbows, showing off his tanned, toned forearms and the ink that covers them, too. His beard is neat and trimmed, salt and pepper gray touching the dark brown of it, and the leather pants he’s wearing are something out of a GQ photoshoot — fitted, but that slouchy kind of casual that makes your mouth water on sight.

He smirks when my eyes make it back to his, no doubt loving the fact that I just ogled him and almost had the elevator doors shut on me in the process. I step fully out, standing tall as I stride over to him in my heels, and that’s when I see the tastefully painted blood dripping from one side of his mouth.

“Vampire,” I muse, arching a brow when I notice he’s wearing blood-red contacts. “I’ll be honest, I thought you’d show up as a beach bar bartender.”

“Didn’t want to turn you on too early in the night. Although, I can drive my truck instead of us catching a cab, if you’d like. Just in case.”

He doesn’t wink, doesn’t make any facial expression with the tease other than to smirk just a fraction more. But the memory of that first time fucking in his truck makes my neck heat, my core tighten.

I flick him off and shove past him before he’s on my heels, chuckling as he catches up.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Dancing.”

And then as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, as if I belong to him, as if he never left me or hurt me or pulverized my heart — he takes my hand in his and leads me to the waiting cab.

The Lemon Club is one known for its bustling nightlife, often hosting well-known DJs and never closing before four in the morning. It’s already bumping when we finally get through the line outside, and in the doors, orange and purple lights thumping with the music and fog filling the floor. Above us, aerial artists hang from hoops and silks, and all around us, girls and boys alike dance in go-go cages, their bodies moving in time with the heavy bass.

The club is packed, people squeezed in at the bar and dancing on every inch of the dance floor. Jarrett pulls me into a dark little corner before looking around with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

Then, he slips his hand around my waist, tugging me closer.

Again, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My breath hitches at the contact, at the way it feels to be held by him after all these years, to have his hands on me, that familiar energy buzzing through my veins just with that simple contact. My traitorous body hums to life, pussy throbbing, nipples pebbling and aching for more.

I really am the fucking worst.

“Sorry it’s so loud in here,” he yells over the music, leaning in close enough to my ear that his warm breath brushes my lobe.

I swallow. “It’s okay!”

We stand there for a long moment, Jarrett dragging his gaze down the length of me, his jaw tight.

“You look incredible,” he says, and though I know he had to scream it for me to be able to hear, it feels like a weighted whisper in my ear.

“So do you,” I say, and it’s almost a pout — enough so that Jarrett chuckles and lifts a brow.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I offer a slight smile in lieu of answering that yes, it is a very bad thing. Because taking the summer away from him numbed my brain to the power he exudes over me. I’d forgotten his rugged, earthy scent, his thick, muscular arms, his devilish smirk, his dark, hypnotizing eyes. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be pinned by his gaze, to know without him saying a word that he wants me — desperately.

But with him standing right in front of me, his hand possessively holding my half-bare waist, I’m all too aware of everything I’d tried so hard to forget.

Jarrett’s expression is a little more solemn when he says, “It’s been excruciating staying away from you.”