Her mouth drops, and she glares at me with a wicked smile on her face.
It turns out, she knows the song by the All-American Rejects. She doesn’t even look at the screen displaying the lyrics as she pins me with her stare, singing the lyrics right to me.
As she starts the chorus, an angry smile breaks on her face. Bristol continues singing, dancing to the beat of the music, putting on quite the entertaining show.
Her hips sway, and my body can’t not react to her proximity and movements.
I try to keep up at least in terms of singing, my tone matching hers as we harmonize together, which only seems to anger her further.
I can’t seem to catch a break.
During the brief instrumental break, she flips me off. By the end, she’s practically sing-screaming at me as she’s staring me dead in the eyes.
I’m waiting for a mic-drop at the end, and so is the DJ because he carefully holds out his hand for the microphone.
Bristol forces a smile at him and hands him the microphone. She flips me off again, glaring at me as she saunters off the stage in those ridiculous sparkly heels.
I don’t dare admit that her little performance turned me the fuck on.
And those glittery shoes, yeah, she can leave those on and nothing else in my next fantasy.
“You’re still an asshole, Moretti,” she barks at me and saunters over to the bar area.
I follow after her, even though I should probably give the witch some space.
She leans on the bar, gesturing for the bartender.
“What can I get for you?” he asks.
“Sex on the Beach,” Bristol says.
“I’m going to need to see your I.D.”
She reaches into her purse and hands him what has to be a fake I.D. because I know she’s not twenty-one.
He glances it over, checks the date of birth, and hands it back. “Anything for you?”
“No, I’m good.”
I lean closer, my lips brushing against her ear, so only she can hear me. “So, you’re twenty-one now?” I ask, skeptical. She’s in her sophomore year, same as I am.
She shifts around to face me, folding her arms across her chest. There’s a warning written across her face, not to cross her.
“So, how are you?” I force a smile, trying to break the obvious tension hanging in the air between us.
“Better, now that I showed you up on stage.”
“You certainly outdanced me.” I admit defeat in that category. I wasn’t moving my hips. I barely moved at all while I sang, because, quite frankly, it took too much energy to remember to open my mouth and let the music come out, while she was doing that hip sway thing and staring straight into my soul.
She leaves her credit card with the bartender, then takes her drink, walking back to the table with my friends and teammates.
Damn, the girl has some nerve.
I’m right on her heels, heading for my chair when she snatches it first.
I grab another chair from a nearby table, scooting it over and boldly sit next to her. She raises an eyebrow at me as she sips her liquor.
“We met briefly before,” Harper says, and holds out her hand, introducing herself. “I’m Harper Ricci.”
