When he reaches me, that small, infuriating smirk pulls at his lips. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, trying for casual, but my pulse is already sprinting. I cock a brow. “Are you going to try to kiss me again?”
Amusement sparks in his eyes. “If you ask me nicely.”
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Please. You think you’re that irresistible?”
“Maybe.” He takes a step closer. “Why? You thinking about it?”
“Hardly,” I lie, holding his gaze, not willing to be the first to look away.
His voice drops lower. “Is that so?”
“Definitely.” I try to ignore the heat spreading up my neck. “It meant nothing.”
He chuckles, like he doesn’t believe a word of it. “Funny, ’cause you didn’t exactly stop me.”
“I didn’t get a chance to.”
“Oh?” He lets the silence stretch, like he’s daring me to call him out. “Then stop me next time, if you really want to.”
The space between us feels almost electric, like it’s pullingtight, and he leans a fraction closer, his gaze flicking to my lips and back up. My breath catches, pulse hammering loud enough that I swear he hears it.
“Hey! You’re here!” a voice says behind me, and before I know it, Everett’s pulling me into a hug. His breath smells like beer as his lips graze my cheek in a kiss. “You look hot.”
“Everett,” I warn, and he responds with an innocent look.
“Friends can’t tell each other they look hot?” he teases. “Just take the compliment,friend.”
“Fine. Thank you,” I say, looking down. I decided to forgo my usual hoodie for a cropped flowery top, pairing it with tight jeans and a long cardigan. It’s not fancy, but I guess it’s different.
Everett nods at Chase, who nods back. “Mind if I steal this girl?”
Chase snorts. “You don’t need my permission.”
Something about his cavalier tone makes my lips tighten. Asshole.
“C’mon, Gemini,” Everett urges. “Dance with me.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, just guides me away from the fire, leaving Chase in our wake.
I glance back, catching Chase’s expression hardening as he watches us move toward the crowd. Then his mouth curves into a wry smile and he looks away as if he doesn’t care at all.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” I tell Everett.
“It’s a slow song. Just stand there and sway.” He flashes that dimpled smile that makes it hard to say no to him.
A moment later he’s holding me close as we sway to the beat, his hand warm on my waist, fingers lightly tracing circles through my shirt.
“I feel like I haven’t spoken to you in ages,” he complains.
He hasn’t. I’ve been making sure of it.
“I’ve been busy. How was your game tonight? Did you win?”
“We wouldn’t be in this good of a mood if we’d lost,” Everett says, gesturing to the rowdy group of football players by the fire. Then he spins me around before pulling me even closer, his lips brushing my ear. “I miss kissing you.”
He’s drunk. I can smell it on his breath and hear it in his voice.
