My heart jolts. So many things. Trying my best and failing anyway. Counting on people and having them leave. Never being chosen.
“Of being seen.” The words slip out, and I tense. Being seen and not being chosen anyway. Exposing the best parts of myself and still having someone walk away. I expect Tristan to laugh it off.
His breath puffs against my neck. “Terrifying,” he agrees. “Not relevant on the dance floor.”
I stiffen. “Why?”
“Because everyone can see you anyway.” His voice seems to slide along my neck. “Might as well have fun.”
I can’t help my laugh. He chuckles in my ear. “You need to let go.”
“And how would you suggest I do that?” My words are distracted as heat gathers in my stomach. I’m having a hard time focusing on what I should be doing with Tristan’s hands on me.
“Feisty today, Bailey. Be one with the music.” His breath ghosts over my neck. “Can’t you feel it? Isn’t it in your blood? It’s in mine.”
I don’t excel at losing control. I let out a frustrated exhale but try to feel what Tristan’s feeling as we move.
“Give yourself up to it,” he murmurs. “It’s like a heartbeat. Or the movement of your lungs. You don’t need to think. You can justbe.” He breathes the last word against my neck, and an electric current runs through me. My skin tingles, my blood heats, and my body melts into his. He’s all heat and strength and sinful movement.
I can’t tell if his hands move my hips or the reverse. Our breaths sync. I start to feel like I’m sparkling around the edges. Melting into the air. Like I’m drunk on champagne.
“Good job.” His whisper is a puff of air against my ear, and I shiver.
I’m terrified to open my eyes. This will end, and I never want it to end. I want to dance with him forever.
Does he feel it?This wildness?His stubble scrapes my neck, his body curved over mine, his hands clutching me to him like he needs me.
Desire flutters in my stomach.
Oh god.
This isn’t real. This is practice.
I shove down anything remotely resembling a flutter. My mission is to learn what I can and find a guy to sleep with, not feel things for Tristan.
“Do you think I’m ready?”
He stills. I can feel his heart pounding against my back.
“What does ready mean?”
“I feel confident.” I keep swaying, half my mind on my words and the other half on cataloging my body’s reactions. I feel loose and warm andgood.Like I just ran a race and then soaked in a hot tub. “But I want to turn him on. I want him to be insatiable for me.” My eyes are on the guy across the dance floor from us.
Tristan is frozen behind me, and I turn in his arms. “Tristan?”
His gaze is unreadable, but his jaw is flexing as he watches the guy across the bar.
For a brief moment, I wonder what it would be like to turn Tristan on. I wonder what it would be like to be the type of woman who walks into a room and owns it, someone who could capture even Tristan’s attention.
Does he ever feel unsettled like this?
“Yep.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, you’re ready. I’ll be at the bar when you’re done.”
14
TRISTAN
Iorder a water and stare unseeingly at my phone while I avoid watching Katie and the blond-haired guy.
