All the Right Moves (All The Right Moves 3)

Shit.

I jerk my hands back, body stiffening from the invasion of my boundaries. But then I look down into the crown of Abby’s long, straight, rich brown hair; it’s shiny and silky and I kind of want to touch it.

Goddamn. Beer.

She turns her entire body then to face me, mere inches away, tilting her head and biting her lip, mortified. Her hands flutter about her helplessly, fingertips accidentally brushing my chest. Once. Twice.

“I am so s-sorry. This is so embarrassing. My friends are… they…”

“Are assholes?” I have to bend down so she can hear me, practically whispering in her ear. “Mine are too. Clearly.”

Her body shivers and she nods, biting her lip before whipping her head toward the group, the action kicking up a subtle flowery scent.

My nostrils flare.

Shit. I can smell her damn hair.

I don’t know if it’s the five beers I’ve had, or the music, or the amount of people crammed into the place, but it’s fucking with my common sense. So much so that I give myself permission to lean forward and deeply inhale her loose strands.

It must have been a long, loud whiff, because Abby turns to confront me. “Did you just smell my hair?” Her eyes are wide with disbelief, and I can tell by her dilated pupils that she’s had a few too many drinks herself.

“Uh…” I hesitate a heartbeat too long and consider lying. “Yes?”

As if it were possible, her clear blue eyes widen farther, glossy mouth forming a surprised ‘O’—she obviously wasn’t expecting me to be honest.

Abby self-consciously reaches up to smooth her hair down. “I… Oh.”

Oh. That little word—spoken that way—makes my stomach flip.

She blushes prettily and we both stand there, neither of us knowing what the hell to do next.

Obviously.

Abby

“I… Oh.” I fumble, embarrassed.

I knew he was sniffing my hair, but I didn’t actually think he’d admit it.

He casts his gaze down between our bodies, and my eyes follow the trail. We’re inches apart, and all it would take is one little… push… for our bodies to collide.

I wish for it at the same time I will more space in between us.

Eyes downcast, I study his hands, one thumb hooked through the belt loop of his low-slung jeans, the other clutching an amber beer bottle. Untucked slub cotton tee shirt, its frayed hem hanging limply over his waistband.

Caleb stands frozen in place, his rock-hard body not moving an inch—kind of like the proverbial deer in headlights. He allows my probing eyes to explore every inch of his toned upper body, grazing over the well-defined pec muscles, gloriously emphasized by the tight gray tee shirt, his nipples hard under the soft fabric. Up, up my gaze goes, up to his firm broad shoulders.

I gulp as the cords in the thick column of his neck twitch, the only indication he’s still breathing, while I rake my blue eyes over his freshly shaven, square jaw. The dark black hair peeking out from his ball cap wisps around his ears, his heavy eyebrows forced into a severe line.

I want to touch it. His hair I mean.

Oh my god.

“Smile,” I softly implore, attempting to lighten the mood.

He jerks his head side to side. No.

“No? But… why?” Balancing in my strappy corkscrew wedge sandals is a challenge, but I make it to my tippy toes, my lips grazing the outer column of his bright pink ear. My nose touches his neck, and emboldened by my beer-fueled haze, I give his neck a nuzzle before pressing my body against his. Returning his earlier favor, I inhale and—sweet Jesus—his freshly showered, soap-and-musk smell is so heavenly my eyes flutter shut. They flutter. Shut. “Why won’t you smile,” I whisper.

“Uh…”

“I want to see it,” I whisper. “Please.” Later, I’ll blame this all on alcohol.

“See what?” he croaks, eyes going wide and tilting his head to the side when I nudge it with the tip of my nose. I sniff him again, the skin under his ear soft against my lips, and feel him groan, a deep rumble vibrating against my chest. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to wiggle against him.

Maybe I am sexy.

The thought gives me courage.

“The gap in your teeth.” Sheesh, what has gotten into me? “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you smiled at me the other day.”

“Really?” he asks, pulling his head back in surprise. “You’re shitting me, right?” He eyes me suspiciously, and out of habit, his tongue does that thing where it runs along the edge of his upper teeth.

That action alone has me looking away and biting my lip.

“How many beers have you had?” Caleb asks with an upturned eyebrow, raising his beer to take a drag. “And when did I smile at you?”

“At Wal-Mart,” I say matter-of-factly, powered by alcohol. “You know—when I was buying tampons.”

He spits out some of his beer, the spray of alcohol hitting my face and the front of my already damp shirt, and his shocked gaze roams the front of my chest. He jerks his wide, horrified expression away from the cleavage created by Jenna’s push-up bra. “Shit, Abby, I am so sorry.”