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It could be dangerous to his relationship with Shiloh.
To my relationship with Shiloh.
But tonight he plans to test our attraction, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold mine back when he does.
Knockout is loud, but it’s friendly. Noah pulls me through the doors and makes an immediate dash toward the bar where an older man is sipping a whiskey and watching him approach.
I don’t know the guy, but Noah has met with him a couple of times and seems to trust him, so other than keeping an eye on him, I don’t interrupt his date.
I spot Shiloh and Atlas by a pool table, laughing and ribbing each other as they take turns with the cue. We took separate cars, and Noah and I spent a couple of minutes kissing in mine before we came in, so they’ve had a little time to settle in.
My feet are rooted to the spot near the entrance. Logic tells me to go over and join them, spend time with my brother and friend, but instinct tells me to turn away and go to the dancefloor. To get lost in the beat and hands that follow.
“Blocking the way, hot stuff.”
Speaking of hands, a set lands on my hips and gently moves me to the side. One glides up my ribcage and the other cards through my hair as hot breath puffs against my neck.
“Pretty boys shouldn’t be hanging around unless they want to get snatched up.”
Usually I’m up for moves like this. I don’t mind the flirting and being manhandled around as long as hands stay above the belt. My skin tingles where the stranger touches, but it isn’t the same as usual. It feels ever so slightly wrong.
I try to step away, but he pulls me back, gripping his hand in my hair and pressing his body flush against mine.
“You’re dressed up for a fun time. Don’t play hard to get.”
I’m not the one who’s hard, I think as his erection digs into my back.
He doesn’t do anything other than sway us to the beat and grind his hips into my ass, so I close my eyes and decide to wait until he loses interest.
Could I break his nose and get him to let go? Probably.
But this doesn’t feel bad, and men usually move on pretty quickly when I’m not responding to them. They either want enthusiastic participation or someone who’s going to fight back.
I don’t do either. I just wait.
Two songs pass before I feel lips on my neck, and this time I elbow the fucker in the ribs and wrench away.
“That’s two points, asshole. Don’t make me give you a third.”
He grumbles but doesn’t reach for me again, heading for the mess of bodies a few feet away without another look in my direction.
Fingertips wrap around my own, and I’m instantly on high alert, but I know the laugh that follows. I know the hand that rests on my shoulder and squeezes.
“I was beginning to wonder if I needed to come over and rescue you.”
“Nah,” I say, turning and flashing Atlas a smile. “I can handle douchebags like that. No one touches me unless I let them.”
“Hot,” he says, and then his jaw drops and his eyes widen as pink fills his cheeks.
It doesn’t feel different. Talking to A. Talking to Atlas. He’s the same person either way.
I lace our fingers together and tug him toward the dancefloor, my heart pounding with the beat and the image of his flushed cheeks in my mind.
“Dance with me?”
He nods wordlessly, and as a new song starts up I drag his hands to my waist and let the music guide the way my body rolls and rocks against his. He’s stiff at first, as if he isn’t sure how to touch and move with another person, so I turn in his arms and work mine from his waist, up his toned chest, and wrap them around his neck.
I lean in close to his ear, but it’s his breath that puffs against my skin.
