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“Come on, we’re leaving.” I start to drag her away.
“No,” she cries, pulling out of my arms. “I want to dance. Dance with me, Bennett.”
I lower my head, silently cursing Grace and this whole “Bennett’s Guide to Being Bad” thing.
“Fine. One dance,” I tell her, holding up one finger and wiggling it.
“Yay!” she cries, bouncing up and down. She all but tackles me, wrapping her thin arms around my neck and hugging me. “Your chest is so hard,” she says in her alcohol-induced haze.
“I thought you wanted to dance,” I remind her, pushing softly against her shoulders.
“Aren’t we dancing?” Her words slur.
“Oh, yeah. Totally dancing.”
“You’re lying.” She pulls away, her eyes glassy. Her pink lips pucker in a frown. “I’m going to go find someone who really wants to dance with me.” She starts to flee into the crowd but I grab her arm and she ricochets back into my chest. She looks up at me with wide doe eyes. “That wasn’t nice.”
I lower my head, my lips skimming her ear. “You wanna dance, Princess? You dance with me.”
Her breath catches, and I swear I can feel her pulse quicken where I grip her wrist. I lead her out onto the dance floor, telling myself that one dance won’t hurt anything. As soon as the song’s over, I’ll haul her drunk ass out of here and call it a job well done.
She goes to put her arms around my neck, like we’re about to sway like some awkward teenagers at prom. I shake my head and push her arms away. “That’s not how you dance in a club,” I tell her. “Turn around.” She looks apprehensive. “Trust me.”
She nods once and turns around, fitting her slender body into the space in front of me. She’s so small, fitting perfectly into the curve of my body. I instantly feel protective of her, and I glare at all the guys around us in case they’d dare to try to come near her.
I put one of my hands on her waist, and the other on her stomach. She tilts her head back against my chest, her eyes closing with a wistful smile touching her lips. Something tugs in my chest—some emotion I can’t even begin to understand.
We move to the beat of the song, our bodies automatically seeming to know what to do.
Grace winds her arms behind her and up around my neck. I don’t stop her this time. She pushes her ass against me and I groan.
“You’re playing with fire,” I tell her. “You’re going to get burned.”
She opens her eyes and smiles lazily.
I clench my teeth.
Don’t do anything stupid, Bennett. She’s drunk and you’re not. Besides, you need her to make you look good. Don’t fuck her and screw things up. Keep your dick in your pants for once.
“We have to go,” I tell Grace, dragging her off the dance floor and to the exit.
“What?” she protests. “I was having fun.”
“We’re leaving,” I reiterate.
If I don’t get out of here, I’ll ruin everything, and I can’t afford the fallout.
My eyes feel like they’re sealed together with glue. And not like that glue you use as a kid, either. No, this is the heavy duty stuff, like Gorilla glue or something.
I slowly peel my eyes open and immediately shut them. The light is too bright and my head pounds like someone beat me with a hammer.
This is the worst I think I’ve ever felt—and that’s saying something considering the nasty flu I got two years ago.
I try again to open my eyes, but it’s too much. “Elle,” I groan. “Shut the blinds.”
She laughs and I hear the sound of them being closed. “I have to say, coming home to you two snuggled in bed is hysterical. I was beginning to think you weren’t a real couple. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you kiss.”
I open my eyes again, and this time I can leave them open. “Two of us?”
