“By finding a rebound for someone you never even dated?”
“Exactly.”
She sighed. Loud and dramatic, the kind that meant she was giving up on reason and switching to damage control. “Fine. Do what you need to do. But I’m staying close in case you need an extraction.”
“Won’t need one.”
“Famous last words.”
I left her at the bar and went into the crowd. Bodies pressed close. The music was loud enough to drown out anything you didn’t want to hear.This I knew how to do.
A guy caught my eye near the dance floor. Latino, around my height, built thick through the chest and arms. White tank top that showed off full sleeves on both arms, something tribal and intricate. Dark eyes that tracked me as I moved closer.
“Hey.” He grinned, stepping into my space. “You’ve got moves.”
“I try.”
“Trying works for you.”
His hand found my hip, and he pulled me closer. We moved together to the music. His body knew what it was doing, confident and practiced, a rhythm that promised he’d be just as good horizontal.
We danced through two songs, his hands wandering, mine doing the same. He smelled of cologne and sweat. When he pulled me in for a kiss, he tasted like tequila. The cheap kind. The kind they kept in the well. My body knew the whole script.
My brain kept wandering off it. To hazel eyes. The careful smile.
“You want to get out of here?” he murmured against my ear.
“Your place or mine?”
“Mine’s close.”
“Let’s go.”
I texted Calliope on the way out.
Jett:Leaving. Don’t worry about me.
Calliope:Too late. Already worrying. Text me when you get home.
Jett:I’m fine.
Calliope:That’s what you always say.
His apartment was small. Neat. Full of artwork that probably meant something to him. We made it three steps inside before his mouth found mine; the door shoving closed behind us with the back of his shoulder. His hands went to my belt before I had my coat off. The buckle hit the floor with a sound that used to do something for me.
His mouth dropped to my neck. Teeth. Tongue. The scrape of stubble dragging down the hinge of my jaw. Heat kicked through my chest and pooled low in my hips. My cock thickened behind my zipper, the half-trained, half-honest response of a body that had done this in too many apartments to count.
The wall met my back. His thigh shoved between mine. I rolled into it on muscle memory alone, the way my body had been rolling into strangers for years. A routine that used to work.
“Fuck.” His breath came warm against my throat. “You feel good.”
I said something back. Something about his mouth. I wasn’t really listening to myself. My hands gripped his shoulders, my belt and his belt both gone now, and he palmed me through my jeans with a confidence that should have done it for me. He found me hard. Found the curved shape of the barbell through the denim and grinned against my collarbone, pleased with the surprise of it.
“Oh,” he murmured. “That’s a present.”
My body responded the way bodies do. Breath faster. Skin tight. Heat showing up where it was supposed to.
But my mind. My mind kept slipping the leash.
