All the Right Moves (All The Right Moves 3)

I glance over to where Abby stands surrounded by her friends, so pretty and seemingly unfazed by all the bullshit surrounding her. See, here’s the thing: sometimes being in the spotlight—even on a smaller scale, like on a college campus—is exhausting. Guys pretend to be our friends. Some want to drink with us on those rare occasions we throw a rager. Strangers invite us to their parties, begging us to come to increase their social status. Girls stalk us in various ways, vying for our attention, just to say they dated us. Or flirted with us. Or screwed us. Or blew us.

Take your damn pick.

I glance around the room and notice my teammates getting pawed, hung on, petted, and groped.

Granted, not many guys in their twenties actually mind getting their cocks grabbed, but… still.

Lay off mine.

I watch a few girls hang on members of the baseball team while others flirt outlandishly with my teammates, all of them overzealously competing for attention.

It’s actually painful to watch.

Abby, on the other hand, looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, which is… refreshing. Encouraging. Definitely different.

I guzzle the rest of what’s left in my beer bottle and nod above the crowd toward the freshman rookie managing the door. He instantly disappears outside but is back in record time with another bottle for me in a short few, top twisted off and ready to go.

I tip it back and chug.

Someone snickers. “Hey, Showtime, you think if you drink enough of those you’ll grow some balls and go over there?”

Not likely.

Abby

“This is getting ridiculous,” the voice mutters beside me. I can barely hear her because the music is so loud, but Jenna is loud enough I recognize the tone when she’s complaining. “What is he doing just standing there?”

My slight buzz has me craning my neck to look around the room. “What are you bitching about?” I curse. My eyes widen and I clamp a hand over my potty mouth, apologizing through my fingers. “Sorry. It’s the three beers talking. Absolutely no one should be letting me drink.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. “Keep it up, trucker mouth, and you’ll be useless by the end of the night. Sheesh. Get it together.” She’s teasing, but it sobers me up and I straighten my posture, mindful not to stick my damp boobs out.

Molly taps her chin thoughtfully and loops her arm through Jenna’s. “I think we should mingle, don’t you ladies? This corner is getting boring. Let’s go chat with the guys.” She jerks her head, indicating the group of guys Weston is standing in the middle of, holding court.

I can see him gesturing wildly from here, animated, obviously in the middle of a story. A funny story too, if the laughter surrounding him is any indication.

Before I know it, I’m being pulled through the crowd by my two determined friends, toward a crowd of boys with whom I’m hardly familiar, let alone comfortable with. I mean, besides Weston. It’s all I can do to not dig my heels into the carpet to stop myself from being propelled forward by my wobbly arms, strong-armed against my will by both Jenna and Molly.

I want to stomp my feet like a baby and run out of this house.

I make a mental list of things I could be doing right now if I weren’t being dragged in a struggle cuddle toward Caleb, whose broad back is facing me, and I recite them in my head:

Study for my mid-terms, which are in a few short weeks.

Clean the bathroom toilet.

Watch Game of Thrones on Demand. Again. For the twelfth time.

Hide under my covers.

Hide under my covers.

I don’t know about you, but I’m quite partial to numbers four and five.

Caleb

“Incoming!” Blaze announces at the top of his voice, hands cupped around his mouth to create a megaphone. “Girlfriend rapidly approaching,” he says to Weston.

“And she’s dragging None of Your Damn Business behind her,” Stephan jokes. “Showtime, your lover looks like she’s about to barf. Maybe you should take her upstairs and introduce her to your big, cold, empty bed.”

Luckily, I’ve already tossed back about five beers—which, combined with my large six foot three frame, hasn’t made me drunk, but it has given me a decent buzz and taken the edge off.

I ignore Stephan.

Feigning indifference to his barb, I reach up and readjust my ball cap, turning the brim so it faces the back of my head, and hold the brim in my palms, squeezing it to reshape the bill. I lower my hands at the same time a warm body is shoved, stumbling, into our circle. Molly and the girl with the purple hair tactlessly propel Abby so she’s standing directly in front of me.

Someone else gives her a gentle push until she’s faltering, tripping into my personal space. Instinctively, my palms shoot out to stop her from falling, settling on her slim waist to steady her.