“You didn’t have to.”
I get up anyway.
I feel their eyes on me crossing the room, but I don’t care enough to stop. Carly's eyes lock on mine just before I get to her, and there’s that half-second where her expression shifts — her brows go up, her body pauses mid-movement. But then she almostrelaxes.
I stop in front of her.
“Dance with me.”
She blinks, her eyes dragging down my body before flicking quickly back up to mine. “Okay,” she says, the word so simple, so easy, like it's not an active choice she's making but doesn't care regardless.
She takes a step toward me, entering my space, but doesn't quite touch me. Mandy and Dana pause beside us, and if they say anything, I don't hear it— just see their bodies move somewhere else, disappearing from my peripherals.
“You sure?” she asks, her teeth worrying her lower lip just enough to leave a tiny red mark beneath the gloss.
No.Not even a little.ButI put my hands on her waist anyway.“Yeah.”
The song isn’t slow enough to middle-school sway to. It has rhythm to it, a dirty pulse under the guitar that gets into the air and under my skin.
Her hands slide up my arms before they settle on either side of my neck, and we begin to move, close enough to be dangerous, close enough to make my pulse throb.
Her cheeks are pink from the drinks and the warmth and the day, her lips parted, and I can't stop looking at them as her body folds into mine, hips pressing against my own, her head so close I could rest my forehead on hers if I wanted.
Christ.
My hand slides from her waist around the small of her back, pulling her middle closer, and the little breathy sound she makes causes my fingers to squeeze tighter, makes the urge to lean down and kiss her right in the middle of the room nearly overwhelming.
I know it would be a terrible idea, know it would be crossing the line, but it's like my brain creates webs over where that line should be, obscuring it beyond comprehension.
I force myself to make a different choice and hook my hand more firmly over her hip, squeezing hard before turning her around in my arms.
She goes with it easily, and my hands stay around her middle, her back to my chest now. The second I step in behind her and press my front to her rear, I know I’ve made a catastrophic mistake.
Her ass brushes me once.Then again, with the beat.
I shut my eyes for half a second. This is worse than having her face me. Far worse. “Jesus,” I mutter, my mouth brushing the side of her head, just above her ear.
She laughs softly, turning her head just enough that I catch the little grin. “Problem?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm.”
My fingers trace across her stomach in circles, then tighten in her sweater, pulling it down just a little more where it’s hanging off her shoulder. “You grinding your ass on me feels like a war crime.”
Her laugh turns wicked at the edges. “You asked me to dance.”
“I did.”
She shifts again, slower this time, dragging against me with enough intent that there is no fucking way she doesn’t knowwhat she’s doing. Heat punches through me so hard I grit my teeth.
I bend my head, my lips and nose dragging against her cheek. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”
“A little,” she admits. “Seemed to work last night.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Knew you dressed like that on purpose.”
She rolls her hips again and I nearly lose my goddamn mind, my breath punching out of me.My fingers tighten, and I pull her back harder against me, hearing the little hitch in her breath when she feels exactly how much of a mistake this is.
