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He’s here for me.
He did all of this—going way out of his comfort zone—for me.
We make the walk in the cold night air to the club, and after we show ID to prove we’re eighteen but not twenty-one and get a special stamp stating that, we go inside. The music is loud, the lights are low, and I notice the stamp on my hand glows in the dark.
I wish excitement was what I was feeling as I look around and see men and women dancing in the middle of the room. Lots and lots of men dancing together, grinding on each other.
It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen in real life before. This does not happen in Kensley. Not ever. And while it’s freeing to see, it also makes me sick because the only one I want to dance with is standing right next to me.
And I don’t think that’s going to happen.
“Let’s go to the bar. Get a drink,” Adam says in my ear. He’s standing so close, I can smell the hotel shampoo he used. It didn’t smell that good when I was washing my own hair with it, but damn, it smells great on Adam.
I nod, even though all we can grab is a soda. I could use a strong drink at the moment to loosen me up. My entire body feels stiff as we make our way to the bar and order two sodas.
Adam pays for our drinks, and then we take a seat on the barstools and look out into the crowd of sweaty bodies. “Wow,” he says, and I turn to look at him.
“Wow?”
He nods, his attention still on the dance floor. “This is different.”
I wonder if watching men dancing and kissing other men bothers him. I don’t think so. But I can’t really read his expression. “Yeah. Are you okay?”
His eyes meet mine now, a frown on his handsome face. “Of course I am. See anyone you like?”
His voice sounds strained with the question as his eyes go back to the dance floor, and I force my gaze to follow.Do I? I don’t know.
Sure, there are a lot of hot guys here. But do I want to actually dance with any of them? Touch them? Let them touch me?
I’m not so sure.
I shrug. “The blond wearing the black tank top is kind of cute.”
I turn in time to see Adam scowling as he looks out at the dance floor. “The one wearing the leather pants?”
I smile into a sip of my soda. “Yeah.”
“He’s so...”—his nose crinkles—“small.”
I laugh and try not to spit out my drink as I turn to look at the blond again. He’s not really that small in stature, but compared to Adam and me, he definitely is. A good half a foot shorter than us both, and we each have fifty pounds of muscle on him. But he’s pretty.
“I don’t judge on size.”
“Is that your type?” he asks, turning his attention back to me. “Small, petite guys?”
My face flushes because I’m not really sure I have a specific type. Other than Adam, that is. Adam is, for sure, my damn type. But maybe that’s why I picked that guy. He looks the opposite of Adam—minus having almost the same color hair. The guy out there is small and bubbly looking, working the crowd and giggling as he dances.
“I don’t know.”
“Well...” Adam stands up, leaving his glass on the bar and taking my hand. “Let’s go find out. I don’t think he’s here with anyone in particular.”
“What?” I squeak as I scramble to place my drink on the bar and follow my best friend, who’s pulling me to the dance floor. “Now?’
“Yes, now.” We reach the dance floor, and Adam shocks me by placing his hands on my hips and swaying to the music.
I’m staring at him, trying to figure out who the hell this guy is because I’ve never seen Adam dance. Not ever. And it’s not like it’s anything crazy or special. But here he is, moving with the rhythm and trying to get me to go along. He’s touching me.
And when that happens, I think we’ve established my brain just doesn’t work. So I’m barely moving, and I don’t really notice when our bodies move close to the blond guy and he joins in.
