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“He doesn’t want you,” Houston said before I could deny her. “You’re trying to take something that’s mine.”
Heat rushed to my groin, my dick perking up. Possessive Houston was fucking hot. “You heard the man,” I added.
“Fine. Whatever.” Dana huffed while she walked away. She didn’t like being told no. Never had and never would.
I cocked a brow at Houston, a half-grin tugging at the right side of my mouth.
“Don’t say a damn word.” He glanced down, almost looking bashful for a second.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I know you.”
“What did you think I was going to say? That you want me? That you don’t like anyone flirting with me? That growly McRae gets my dick hard?”
“Just playing my part,” Houston replied, but it was the first time since we started this that he took my hand first.
12
HOUSTON
The auction portion of the evening passed quickly, and I was glad that my old jersey went for a respectable couple thousand, even if Cullen did drive the price up a bit with his bids. I wasn’t sure whether he’d bid as a show of support for his “boyfriend,” for the sake of the charity, or just to mess with me. A glance at his cocky expression suggested it was maybe a mixture of the three.
He tossed his bidding card on the table as the auction ended. “I should’ve kept bidding until I won. It would’ve been really fun for you to find me in the kitchen one morning wearing only your old jersey.” A rakish smile curved his lips as he cut me a sidelong look. “Are you about to growl again?”
“No,” I growled. “And fun’s not exactly what I’d call a surprise like that.”
“Tempting? Sexy as fuck?” he suggested, and I shook my head in exasperation. The man was shameless, but it was hard for me to stifle a smile.
We’d kept our dicks in our pants since I’d gotten back from LA, but Cullen didn’t make it easy. He’d ramped the innuendo up to an eleven lately and got way too much enjoyment out of it. I was half-hard around him at any given moment and definitely questioning the wisdom of letting him move in all over again. Being around him blurred the lines between my head and heart so much that sometimes I felt like I couldn’t think straight. One of those moments was occurring right then as his gaze moved over my face.
“Get your ass up,” I told him, ticking my head toward the dance floor, where couples were beginning to gather. “You sound like someone who needs a healthy outlet for all that…energy.”
It would have helped if Cullen had a partner who could actually dance, though, and that wasn’t me. Fortunately, a slow song was playing as we stepped onto the dance floor, and since it was packed, I wouldn’t have to do much more than shift side to side.
We got tangled up when we tried to figure out positions since we both immediately went for the other’s waist.
“Put your arms around my neck, you idiot.” Cullen laughed.
“Fuck you. You put your arms around my neck,” I retorted.
“I’m the better dancer. I need to lead. Come on.”
“You do it. This way is more comfortable for my knee.”
Cullen scrutinized me and then burst into another laugh. “The way you bullshit with a straight fucking face, McRae. Next thing you know, I’ll be folding your laundry because you’re gonna claim your knee hurts when you bend over to open the dryer.”
“It does sometimes, so offer to fold my laundry accepted.”
“Hold on a minute. That wasn’t an offer.”
“Sounded like one to me,” I said and acquiesced, sliding my arms up his torso and around his neck and purposely ignoring Cullen’s smirk when I did so. The sensation of his hands on my waist was distraction enough. And he was right. A little pressure from one hand or the other directed my pitiful footwork so my zombie shuffle kinda resembled dancing, especially if you squinted.
“How did you spend so much time around me and not even pick up a dance move?”
“When we were together, we weren’t usually dancing. At least not the upright kind.”
I waggled my brows, and he snorted.
“That’s unforgivable. Tomorrow, I’m teaching you some stuff. The lawn mower, at least. Maybe the shuffle. No man of mine is gonna walk around not knowing how to at least do the running man. Jesus Christ, McRae. How do you survive?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I’ve been half-dead for years,” I deadpanned, even though it was kinda true when I thought about it. It was sobering to consider how far I’d gone into my shell after my knee injury and how I might not have even noticed had Cullen not started drawing me out of it.
His grip on me tightened, the press of his body firm and warm against mine. “Well, you sway pretty good, and you definitely fuck like a champ, so I know you’ve got some rhythm in there somewhere. We can start there.”
