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"Save it for the game," the friend says.
A dozen awwws and no fairs bounce around the room.
Dean turns to me. Winks. "Fair is fair." He offers his hand. "Sit with me, sunshine."
He leads me to the couch. Rests his ass on its arm.
I stand next to him. Shift my weight between my feet. Tap my toes together. Listen to the hollow sound the synthetic leather makes.
His hand brushes my hip.
My body responds immediately.
My pulse races. My nipples perk. My sex clenches.
I want him touching me. I think about it all the time. Too much.
He's everything I hate.
He's someone I hate.
But I still want him touching me.
I still stroke myself to orgasm thinking about him every fucking night.
"Why don't you start, romeo," Dean's friend calls.
Ooohs and ahhs bounce around the room with do its and Oh my gods!
The room wants Dean.
The entire world wants Dean.
He wants…
How knows what the hell the manwhore wants.
He smiles, reveling in the attention. "With pleasure." He turns to me. "Chloe, truth or dare."
My head fills with ideas.
A dare to kiss him.
To flash him.
To touch him.
God, I want to touch him.
And to slap the smarmy smile from his face.
He did call me by my name.
Maybe there's some shred of decency behind his party boy facade.
Or maybe that's my hormones talking.
Either way.
