Badly Behaved

He watches me intently, his gaze strong and commanding. “I’m a guy who likes what he sees... and you’re ruining it.”

Following his response, another comes from my left, right against the hollow of my ear. “Don’t ruin it, Trouble.”

I fight the urge to blow cool air down my neck, fully committed to hiding how my blood is heating beneath my skin, but the goose bumps are beyond my control, and they are not missed by the beastly boy sharing my air.

In an attempt to breathe easier, I turn my head to the left, but it doesn’t help. Beretta stands too close to allow for a fresh inhale that isn’t infused with unwanted invitation.

Friction tickles my exposed shoulder to my right, and my focus shifts that way, my palms pressing more firmly into my chest.

This one’s yet to say a word, but his sensuous eyes speak volumes. They’re blue, as well, but darker, near navy in color.

“That’s Arsen,” once you’ve earned it says.

The back of Arsen’s hand ghosts along my upper thigh and I pull in a long breath when his fingertips curl around the hem of the dress. He gives it a single, gentle tug.

If someone were to come to me later asking for an explanation as to why I allowed his hold to remain where it was, why I allowed any of this, all I’d have to offer is a weedy little shrug.

Especially when Beretta’s firmer, far more unwavering grasp latches on to the other side, and my double-crossing body’s response is to drop my arms in surrender.

I face forward, staring right into the eyes of the one in front of me while his friends work the fabric from my hips.

Those eyes, they don’t fall as the dress does, and fervor threatens to govern my mind.

“Oh my god!” Cali shouts.

I jump away from the three, my head hitting against the triple mirrors at my back, knocking some much-needed sense into me.

“Are you seriously still in there, James?” she whines.

Pushing off the glass, I glare from one to the next.

“I am. I seem to have been held up.” I pop a hip, and three smirks emblaze their devilishly attractive faces.

I cross my arms, and this time, all eyes fall to the strapless bra I probably should have gone a size up on.

All the girls have to do is look beneath the opening and they’ll find four sets of legs. Really, they should have as they approached, but again... lack of awareness is a real thing among this group when they’re perfectly unaffected.

“Okay, well, hurry up!” Cali’s voice is already getting farther away. “I could use a smoothie or something.”

With a huff, I bend, tear my romper off the floor and step into it, careful not to snag the material with my wedges.

I yank my purse from the hook and shoot forward, but the bossy one of the bunch catches me by the wrist with a glare.

One I give right back.

“What’s the matter, blue eyes? Afraid to play in the light?”

His godly cut jaw sharpens, but his lips remain sealed, and when I jerk in his grasp, he concedes, releasing me.

I don’t miss how they slip as far to the side as possible when I throw the door open as wide as the hinges allow and step out.

Only then do I realize how stupidly thoughtless a move it was, one the gossip mill would eat up and my parents would burn me alive for—I blame the twister of testosterone I was caught in the eye of.

But damn, how bold were they to creep in on me like that?

Maybe they are crazy...

I shake it off, bumping shoulders with Cali and Jules as I fall in step between them. “I’ve reconsidered my decision not to drink today. I could use one.”

Or three.

I frown.

Jesus Christ.

Cali claps and at the exit, the doorman returns our bags and off we go to get drunk somewhere.

It’s close to eleven p.m. when we walk into Dojo, a nightclub owned by Dax’s parents, with an entire upper level dedicated to him and his friends, none who are of age. Well, maybe a few are. He does allow his fellow lacrosse players to lead the occasional strays up from the actual nightclub downstairs.

I thought to ask Jules if his parents were aware of this added space but decided it’s another one of those unspoken rich kid things. Nobody wants their kids causing a drunken scene or getting caught on candid camera outside of paparazzi-powered venues, so might as well give them their own fake IDs, not that they’re needed, and private hush-hush rooms, right?

I legit believe that’s the thought process some of these parents use when it comes to their privileged spawns.

Give us what we want and out of your way we stay.

Kicking off the weekend by making an appearance, if not ending the night here, is yet another routine in the summer socialite party scheme. ‘Club Friday,’ I’m told, continues throughout the academic year where house parties die down in favor of school events, among other things that provide the guys and girls with the opportunity to one-up their peers.