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“Oh shit.”
“No one should ever ask you to be something you aren’t or force you to hide who you are. What you’re doing is hiding, Bee. Hiding the real you under silence and platitudes. But without all of that BS, you’re incredible.”
I hope my blush is hidden in the dark.
Over Sebastian’s shoulder, Jet wins an arm-wrestling match with Brad before launching into the merits of a Jacob’s ladder (whatever that is). There’s a crowd on the dance floor booing every time Bram interrupts the musicto play “Pony,” and I shake my head as I realize I just lost the bet we’ve all secretly been playing. Who would have guessed you could want to hear the same song more than five times in a night?
“I told you. It’ll be at least ten times before the night is over.”
“How is this their first dance song?”
He’s trying to hide it, but I catch the wistful glances he throws toward the stage. “Ask him when he’s finished dancing. It’s a great story.”
I spend the next two minutes trying to decipher the meaning of the curve of his lips while the caffeine kicks in.
When Jet almost topples off her chair after losing to Rochelle, Sebastian laughs around the mouth of his tonic. I can just catch the muscles shifting in his neck through the low light. Tingles ripple through me.
Shit, how did I not know how good he looked in purple? Not as good as black, or blue—the light blue of a summer sky just as the sun crests the horizon, when it goes pale and bright and makes your breath fill your lungs with natural beauty—but still damn fine. Hell, he could probably wear lime green, one of the few polarizing colors of the world, and somehow make it the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
Because that’s what Sebastian does. Flips everything on its head. Makes things beautiful.
He looks good here. Like he belongs. It’s nice to see him in his element. It’s a good crew too. I’m honestly a little jealous.
Frankie, it turns out, makes skull jewelry in her spare time. Jet owns a pair of Samoyeds called Bert and Ernie,and I make her show me all three thousand photos she has of them. Damon runs a microbrewery with his brother, and Bram, of all people, is a chiropractor.
“Bee, you have to join us,” Frankie calls from the stage, her hand high on the pole, her hair bouncing as she sways her hips to the beat. She is stunning.
Bram is holding his hand out to me. “Yes, please. I can show you some moves.”
Rochelle claps. “No one’s going to judge. We’re all here to have a good time. Besides, you can’t honestly be worse than Bram.”
“Hey!” But when I look over, Bram shrugs. “Actually, that’s fair.”
I look at Sebastian. For what, I’m not sure. Support? Help?
His smile widens. “It’s up to you. I’ve seen you dancing around the house. I already know you can move.”
And that convinces me.
Because there’s one more secret Sebastian doesn’t know about me, but he’s about to find out.
“Challenge accepted.”
18
SEBASTIAN
The bass rumblesthrough the club, strong and deep and exactly for the reasons you’d imagine. It’s not unusual to let loose on the pole; Karla’s won several competitions and is coming up with new moves to teach the others.
Bee follows them to the stage, and the swagger of her hips toward the pole is enough to heat my blood. No matter what is about to happen, my resolve is already tested. Getting through this is going to be a challenge.
Then she starts to dance, and…
Holy fuck, can Bee move.
I was teasing before, but I’m certainly eating my words now.
How many people have seen her like this? Free, open, sexy as all hell? I shift in my seat, my jeans tighter than before.
