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Within three seconds, a few things were clear. Royce was a passable dancer. Vandy was not. She gave him her best smile and almost cracked her head on his chin.
Obviously, she should have been taking ballet classes rather than going to national honor society classes and oboe lessons. When her mother sent her to swim lessons because ‘drowning is a leading cause of death under the age of twenty,’ she should have considered that dance floor humiliation was a leading cause of social death.
Less weekends studying and more time going out might have prevented this too.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Her hands fluttered in weird directions as she failed to locate the beat.
“Try this. Lean back and stop thinking.” Completely ignoring the actual music, he twirled her around to press his chest to her back. He swayed back and forth, and she felt some of her tension ease.
He was much larger than her, firmer, muscled and, oh my god, was that his cock? Could she think about his cock? Did she do that to him?
Experimentally, she thrust her butt against that spot, and his hands caught her hips. She froze again, but he bent his head down and kissed her by her ear.
Unfamiliar need rushed through her. The heat of him, the darkness, she wanted his hands on her. She was hot, bothered, and wishing they were alone. What would it be like to get the way too short skirt off and feel him for real?
She ignored her mother’s constant refrain of ‘a good Indian girl is judged by how she behaves.’
Royce’s hands guided her right back to what she’d been doing, and he whispered, “What’s your name, birthday girl?”
Feeling daring, she tried an experimental hip wiggle. “Vandy. Vandy Patel. Like Mandy with a V.”
He matched her movements. “Vandy. If you keep doing that, I might have very bad thoughts about you.”
Did bad thoughts include naked thoughts? She had plenty of those. “I – I – I…”
The music faded away, and he stopped dancing. “Don’t worry, Vandy. I won’t take your halo. Though your phone number would be nice.”
“I’m only here for a week,” Vandy said and instantly regretted it. A hot guy who admitted to having sexy thoughts about her asked for her number. She sounded like a complete goody-two-shoes.
He didn’t react. “I see. Let me take you back to your friends. Have a happy birthday.”
She followed him back to the girls, cursing rather loudly in her head. Way to torpedo things. In the first ten minutes of meeting him, she’d proven to be a novice drinker, dancer, and flirtee. Great.
Her friends weren’t alone, though.
“These are Royce’s friends. Did you know they were Cleveland firefighters?” Anna’s words ended in an exultant note, pointing to two guys with way too many muscles.
“We saw you dancing it up with our Royce,” one guy said, with Tara hanging on him.
Royce stopped short, looking considerably less excited to see his friends than Vandy would have expected. “It was one dance.”
The second guy almost mocked. “You stopped at one dance?”
“As I was saying, it’s Vandy’s twenty-first birthday,” Tara said helpfully. “Royce bought us sake. Want to join us?”
“Murphy was showing Mandy a good time?” the first guy said, like it was an odd occurrence.
“She’s visiting for a week from college.” Royce, whose last name must have been Murphy, partially blocked her from his friends.
“You don’t even need a week. You gonna make Mandy’s twenty-firstbirthday memorable? Give her an adventure?” the second guy shouldered past Royce and gave Vandy a head-to-toe visual assessment.
“She’s not interested, Jon,” Royce said, while it seemed that Royce wasn’t interested.
“What twenty-one-year-old doesn’t want an adventure?” Jon said, having finished his assessment. “Mandy’s dressed for it.”
“She doesn’t seem to like the adventuring type,” Royce said and took half a step away from her.
Definitelynot what she wanted. “I am the adventuring type,” she lied.
