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It’s the trifecta of reasons to approach Griffin. To not be afraid to put myself out there. I mean I’m looking for a one-night stand, not a husband.
I round the side of the long table, attempting to strut with confidence. My silk dress moves easily with every step I take. I may not have the impressive rack the blonde has, but I have to admit my small breasts are perky and fill out the triangle cut of my mom’s deep V slip dress rather nicely. With the club music at an ear-splitting decibel, I know I’ll have to get close to be heard, just like the blonde. I’m searching my brain for a witty opening line, maybe something suggestive to let him know I’m interested.
Suddenly, Griffin swivels on his stool. The movement catches me off guard and my legs wobble. In the next moment, the toe of my shoe bumps into the leg of the stool beside him, stopping my lower body’s motion while pitching my top half forward, right into Griffin. With nothing to slow my momentum, I put out my hands to brace myself.
On Griffin’s thighs.
Beneath my palms, his muscles contract, while his hands wrap around my elbows to steady me.
The shock of landing in Griffin’s lap makes it impossible to come up with any casually cool conversation starters.
“Hi.” The single syllable falls out.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Hi.”
I’m certain the music is still thumping around us, yet being this close to Griffin feels like being enclosed in soundproof glass, shutting out the chaos of our surroundings. The lights from the dance floor flash and change colors, casting his strong jaw in pink, then blue, then red light. My fingers itch to reach up and touch the stubble across his jaw, run my thumb over his full lips, feel the contrast between the two.
His eyes search my face before lowering to where my hands are resting on his thighs, my fingers splayed over the black wash denim, only inches from his crotch.
They slowly move back up to mine, lingering for a moment at my chest. I don’t bother looking down to see the view that Griffin has, but the fact that I barely feel the silk material against my nipples tells me he might be getting an eyeful.
“Um,” I remember why I came over here but saying it out loud is harder than I imagined, so I ignore the fact that I left a mostly full drink at the table with Jess and use needing a drink as an excuse. “I need your assistance at the bar.”
“Now?” he questions when I don’t remove my hands.
“Um, yeah. Now would be good.”
He stands, righting my angled body.
“Let’s go.” He takes my hand in his, then leads me through the crowded space, toward the bar.
Griffin is simply holding my hand so we don’t get separated, but it still sends a rush of excitement through my body. He parts the crowd and keeps me tucked behind him until we make it to the bar. There, he promptly shifts me in front of him into a newly vacated spot.
He bends down to whisper in my ear. “What do you want?”
You,my brain answers automatically.
I know he’s talking about a drink, but the way his breath tickles the shell of my ear and the huskiness of his voice has me wanting to turn around and pull his face down to mine.
I chicken out, though, and think about what he’s really asking. What do I want to drink?
I turn to smile up at him, loving the way his arms bracket me in against the bar. Protective, yet not crowding me. My eyes drop to the wall of muscle around me. God, I wish he would crowd me.
“We should do birthday shots,” I finally say.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “That seems like a bad idea. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.”
The image of Griffin throwing me over his shoulder and walking out of the club sends a wave of arousal between my thighs.
“Oh, come on. You need to loosen up.”
“This is me,” he drops his hands from the bar to roll his shoulders back, “loose.”
Now he’s got his hands in his pockets, and he’s a good six inches farther away.
“I feel like you’re here, but you don’t want to be.”
He shrugs. “I’m not much of a partier.” He lifts his hand to signal the bartender, so I turn around to give the guy my order.
