I actually laugh at that. “‘Watch over us?’ God, Branson, what kind of mafia movie are you in? We’re independent women in our twenties. We can handle ourselves.”
“If I’m going to sit here and drink while you guys break everyone eardrums with the karaoke machine, the least I can do for the common good is make sure you don’t break something or yourselves,” he explains, nodding to where Kennedy has somehow wrestled the karaoke machine again. That woman needs to learn how to keep still. “I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not leaving.”
God, why is he being such a party pooper? Before the project, I could have fun and mess about. Now he feels like a bodyguard. And not the fun, sexy kind.
I groan. “You need to loosen up, Branson. Why don’t you turn your frown upside down and go find some girl to take home? You’re ruining my vibe.”
He swallows, thinking for a second and my drinks arrive, so I pick them up, one in each hand. “Maybe I will,” he challenges.
“Maybe you should,” I call, my back turned to him as I saunter back over to Max.
This is the kind of fun I need.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good night at home like the next girl, but being here, under the dark lighting with good music playing, I feel at home. It also helps that I’m dancing next to a really hot guy who hasn’t tried to rip my clothes off yet. It’s been a good night all around.
I ask Max what year of college he’s in and when he tells me he’s a junior like me, I feel myself start to relax. He asks me about school, and I ramble like a fool about my business classes, and he does the same about his literature degree. I find smart men so fucking sexy, so I don’t miss the leap my heart does when he easily tells me some of his favourite authors.
I apologise for being rude to him when we first met and he assures me that its fine, and even when I blurt out my addiction to reality TV shows, he doesn’t seem phased.
Instead, he pulls me closer into him, so our fronts are almost touching. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect,” he murmurs. God, these British guys really have a way with words.
Because my life is becoming more and more like a movie each day, the second the atmosphere shifts in our relationship from friendly to flirty, the music also changes to one of my favourite songs;‘She’by Harry Styles.
As Max tightens his grip around my waist, pulling me further into him, I lock my hands around his neck, loving the way our bodies fit together. We feel like two pieces of a puzzle, each open piece of us fitting to complete the other. And he smells so fucking good that I just want it all over me.
We’re hardly even dancing anymore. We’re just pressed against each other, my head resting on his shoulder as I close my eyes for a second, letting myself be taken away in the moment as the song builds. It’s hardly a slow song, but as the song picks up, it starts to feel dirty, and I love it.
When I open my eyes I’m staring directly at Evan. He’s moved from his spot next to the bar and is instead standing a few feet away from me as everyone dances around him. My heartbeat immediately picks up. He stands there, hands in his pockets, face emotionless as he stares directly into my eyes.
Our gazes lock. Hold. Burn.
I challenge him with my eyes to stop looking at me, seeing how far he’s going to push it until he finally drops his gaze.
But he never does.
Even when my body is completely pressed to Max’s and I can feel his bulge in his jeans, Evan doesn’t look away. I grip onto the back of Max’s head tighter, hating the way he’s looking at me, but I can’t stop looking back. Even as I try to tell my eyes to move, they just can’t.
Max turns back, glancing over his shoulder, no doubt noticing the intense staring contest that is taking place and then he turns back to me and I lean up off his chest to move my attention to him, my front still crushed to his. “What’s the deal with him? Does he fancy you or something?”
“No,” I say quickly, looking up into his eyes that flash with something I can’t quite place. “Are you jealous?”
“Scarlett,” he presses, spinning me out and then he pulls me back in again, clasping his hand around my waist. “Have you seen yourself? You’re fucking stunning. I wouldn’t be surprised, that’s all.”
Am I blushing right now? No. I can’t be.
I’ve been complimented by guys before, but I don’t know why the way Max’s says it runs through my body like honey and makes me feel weak in the knees.
“We’re just working on a project for class,” I say, my voice betraying me as it sounds shaky when he presses me into him again. “And my best friend's boyfriend is his roommate so we kind of have to see each other all the time.”
He hums, murmuring, “That sounds awful.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say back. “I mean, just looking at him makes me mad.”
“I can tell,” he laughs. “You’re squeezing my neck pretty hard.”
“Shit. Sorry.” I detangle my arms from around his neck, but he catches my wrists, pinning his darkened eyes on me, slowly easing them back up onto him and I clasp my hands behind his neck loosely this time. He smiles down at me, a dimple popping out on his right cheek, and it almost undoes me.
“It’s okay. I like it when a girl’s a bit rough.”
