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Even without hours of mandatory alcohol awareness classes under my belt, I’d recognize peer pressure, but it doesn’t mean he’s not right in his own convoluted way. This is Vaughn’s day, and I am here to participate in the festivities. We’re all adults, drinking at a party is a social norm, and I’m not driving. I can relax and enjoy a cocktail if I want.
“Cheers,” I say and lift my glass.
The first thick, icy sip slides down my throat easily. It’s sweet and tangy but super strong. I’ll need to pace myself so I don’t feel like I can’t handle this.
“How’d I do?” Dylan says, grabbing a redhead walking by and bringing her under his arm. She giggles and snuggles against him.
“It’s good,” I tell him, but I don’t think he hears me. He’s got his tongue down the girl’s throat.
“Hey,” Vaughn says, coming up beside me. My body immediately relaxes and leans toward him. “Sorry about ditching you. I see you’ve got a drink.”
“I do,” I answer with confidence I don’t entirely feel, but I want him to know I’m okay indulging in Dylan’s specialty.
As if on cue, Dylan hands Vaughn a glass. How he poured while his mouth is still attached to the girl at his side, I don’t know.
“Come on.” Vaughn takes my hand—sending a ridiculous amount of pleasure through me—and leads me to a sitting area where several party guests are lounging on a semi-circular sectional. Vaughn sits and tugs me onto his lap even though there’s an available spot next to him.
He flashes a smile that is so beautiful my heart stops.
“Happy birthday,” I say and lift my glass to clink with his.
“It is now.”
I’ve never actually believed eyes could mesmerize, but there’s no other way to describe my reaction to Vaughn’s. The opaque green around his pupils lightens to a translucent shade as bright and rare as beach glass before deepening to a thin dark outer ring.
His gaze holds me hostage. I can’t look away. Part of me is overwhelmed with panic, but another part of me is buzzing with euphoria I can’t blame on the drink. I’m under the Vaughn influence, and I don’t want the light-headed sensation to end. With Brit’s advice on replay in the back of my mind, I want to revel in it.
“Thanks for last night,” he whispers as I try to get comfortable on his lap and not spill my drink. Or let anyone around us notice my hand is shaking.
“You’re welcome.” And where should I put my arm? Around his neck or keep it wedged between us? He settles me closer, and I’ve no choice but to drape my arm over his shoulder. The side of my boob rests against his chest.
“Hey.” He slants his mouth so it’s right at my ear. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
He certainly does.
But keeping calm is impossible. My dress is thin and I can feel him inside his classic-fit dark-blue shorts. I force myself to stop wiggling.
“How was Paris?” a girl asks from across the sitting area.
“Bonne,” Vaughn tells her.
Talk continues after that to trips his friends have planned over the summer. I sip my cocktail and listen to the conversation. Vaughn finishes his drink, puts his glass on the low round table at the center of the sitting area, and then rests his hand on my thigh, fingertips underneath the hem of my dress.
A bomb of arousal goes off in my body. I clench my legs together to stave off the tingles making their way between my thighs. My panties were already wet, but now I suspect there are more obvious signs of what he’s doing to me. I’m sure a flush covers my cheeks and neck.
I scramble to my feet. “Point me in the direction of the bathroom?”
“I’ll take you—”
“Don’t be silly.” I stop him from rising with a hand to his chest. “I can find it.” I desperately need a few minutes alone to get my overactive hormones under control.
“There’s one off the kitchen,” he says.
“Great. Thanks.” I hurry away, only to be stopped by Dylan at the built-in bar.
“Kendall! Hold up. Your sister says she can make a better daiquiri than me, and I need you to be the judge.”
“Princess there doesn’t know the first thing about a good drink,” Dixie says from behind the blender without sparing me a glance.
