I almost laugh, but it comes out choked. “Landon…”
He lifts his beer to clink it against mine. “I’m just saying.”
I blink, but before I can respond, Lydia spins toward me, eyes bright. “What about Mr. Clark Kent over there?” She jerks her chin at a clean-cut guy by the pool table. “He looks like he knows what to do with his hands.”
I laugh nervously, taking another sip, trying to drown the memory of Wesley’s hands gripping my thighs.
Landon’s still watching, eyes shifting between Wesley and me like he can see straight through us. He drains his beer andshrugs. “Your loss.” The words are light, but he gives Wesley a look before slipping into the crowd, twirling around a tall girl with sleek black hair.
I’m still processing when someone sits on the stool next to me. He’s tall and broad, wearing a shirt that clings to the gym body he clearly wants everyone to notice. A tourist. The perfect candidate for a one-night stand.
He’s playing it cool, pretending to study the very limited drink menu scrawled on the chalkboard behind the bar before angling himself closer.
Wesley’s suddenly beside me, and all the air is sucked from my lungs. There isn’t an open stool, so he leans against the bar. His scent takes over my senses and I can’t bring myself to look at him.
“Hey,” the tourist says casually. “Saw you walk in. You’re wearing the hell out of those jeans. Can I buy you a drink?”
Before I can fake-laugh my way out of it, a hand appears between me and the gym bro.
“She’s good,” he says, calm and controlled. “Thanks.”
The guy takes one look at Wesley and falters, smiling awkwardly as he backs off.
Lydia raises a brow. “Didn’t realize you were her keeper.”
Wesley doesn’t even acknowledge her. His eyes stay locked on mine, unreadable and burning.
My stomach flips, and then—
“Come dance with me.”
Not a question.
Not a suggestion.
It’s ayou know what this is.
My brain is still playing catch-up when his fingers lace around mine. Warm. Firm. Claiming.
The crowd parts for him like they always do in movies. The music shifts to something slower, bass thrumming through the wooden floorboards.
He pulls me in, his hands settling low on my waist.Possessive.Like he knows exactly what he wants—and he’s done pretending otherwise.
I lean into him and he lowers his chin to the top of my head, swaying us slowly to the beat. His thumb strokes lazy circles into my skin.I’m burning, but I can’t bring myself to pull away.
“I thought you didn’t dance.”
His hold tightens. An answer without a word. And it’s taking everything in me not to come undone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WESLEY
Ishouldn’tbetouchingher like this.
I know that.
I’ve known it since the very first night in the kitchen.
