“Hey.” I step so close I smell the whiskey on his breath. “You’ve been staring at me all night.”
“Uh, you’re hot,” he stammers, his eyes rolling over my body and sticking to my breasts.
Has it come to this?
“So … you want to dance?” I prompt. I’m not a great dancer, but the alcohol humming through my blood convinces me that I am.
“Sure.”
I walk onto the dance floor, assuming he’s following. Assuming he’s staring at my ass as I pop my hips in a loose-limbed sway. His hands clamp my waist, his fingers drifting down to spread over the curves of my butt. I press my back to his chest and start moving, start reaching for a feeling, any feeling to block the emotions that have ravaged me over the last few hours. The hurt and jealousy. The disappointment and resentment. He gets stiffer and harder with every measure of the song, with every roll of my hips. He pulls my hair aside, and his breath lands heavy and hot on my neck. Whatever my body is reaching for, I’m not finding it with him. I’m about to pull away and go order another Grey Goose, when I hear a deep voice behind me.
“Dude, step off.”
Gravel studs Grip’s voice. Whether he’s irritated with me or glow-bright, I don’t know. I whirl around to face them. My partner, apparently more a lover than a fighter, has obliged Grip’s request and is already halfway back to his frat boy friends.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” The club lights stripe his handsome face, painting him in shades of pink and blue and green. “You were working that guy up for nothing.”
“For nothing?” I raise both brows, hands on my hips. “It wouldn’t have been for nothing. Have you forgotten? This is my spring break. Girls get drunk and they get laid. I’m already halfway to one, and you just ruined the other.”
His face goes hard as cement.
“You’re still hurt from your fight with Rhyson.” He shakes his head. “I’m not letting you go home with anyone half drunk and emotional.”
“I wasn’t going home with him. I would have fucked him in a bathroom stall. In the alley. We would have figured it out.”
The light strobes the emotions on his face, flashing anger then frustration.
“I’m gonna excuse that because I know you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I snap. “I’m horny.”
“Shit, Bristol.” He glances at the people dancing within earshot. “That is not what you say in a club full of frat boys trolling for ass. I’m trying to protect you from all these dicks.”
“I like dick!” I say a little too loudly, drawing a few more stares. Boy, that Grey Goose has kicked in after all. “And you’re cock blocking.”
“Cock block …” Grip’s mouth drops open then snaps shut. “Let’s go. You’re exhausted and irrational, so Imma give you a pass.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I slip past him and stomp off the floor as much as my Louboutins will allow. I have no idea how we got into the club, and I make several turns and detours. I’m sure I’m headed toward the entrance, but I end up behind the building instead of in front. I step out anyway, hauling in a cleansing breath and leaning against the brick wall to calm the tremors shivering through my body. Grinding into glow-bright did nothing for me, but catching a whiff of Grip’s clean masculine scent, feeling the warmth of his body as he stood so close—that has me trembling.
“I told Jimmi we’ll see her later.” Grip walks toward me in the alleyway. “Let’s get you home.”
My anger has died off, and so has his, apparently. His voice is gentle, his eyes compassionate. He sees too clearly, too much. He detects all the hurt festering under my clingy bandage dress. I hate that he’s so sweet and still a player. I won’t forget about the bees. And the honey. And the chocolate.
“God, just leave me alone.” Pressing into the brick wall at my back, I hold my head in my hands. “I’ve already told you I’m horny, and you just keep …”
I growl and fist my hair and my frustration in my fingers.
“You’re right.” I stand straight. “Let’s just go.”
I push off the wall at my back only to collide with a wall of muscles and heat at my front. Neither of us makes a move to put any distance between us. My breath stutters over my lips as I fight the magnetic pull of him. We stand there in the alley, trapped in a sensual stasis, unmoving except for our chests heaving against each other’s with each labored breath. His hands find the curve of my waist, the dip of my back. He doesn’t press me to him, but his touch scorches through the thin material of my dress. He drops his head, pressing his temple to mine, and draws in a breath behind my ear.
“Did you just …” I search for the right word, “whiff me?”
His husky laugh leaves warm breath at my neck, skittering a shiver down my spine.