“I can’t believe this is how I’m spending my night off.” I feel a tad bad for dragging her out when she puts it like that, but I need to make frequent public appearances with her to establish our narrative and keep the girls on campus from leeching onto me.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“How?” She looks doubtful.
“Somehow.” I lead her back to the kitchen where the drinks always are. “You want anything?” I go to the fridge where I stashed my Zombie Dust earlier in the day since I was driving by.
“Yeah, give me whatever you’re having.”
I pop the top on both and pass one to her, clinking our glasses together. “Bottoms up.”
She scrunches her nose like a bunny and takes a sip. Her lips turn down and she chokes out, “That’s delicious.”
I throw my head back in laughter. “Don’t lie to me, Van.”
“I don’t like beer.”
I lean my hip against the counter, looking her up and down. My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I fight to say the things I want to, because I know I’d send her running screaming into the other direction. My dick stirs in my jeans at my overwhelming attraction to her.
“What do you like?” I hope to fuck my voice doesn’t sound as high to her as it did to me.
“Margaritas.”
I tip the bottle to my lips, her eyes following my movements. “Guess I’ll have to take you back to Harvey’s then.”
She doesn’t reply, instead she’s looking around at all the people crowded into the kitchen. Taking another sip of beer, she cringes and glares at the bottle.
Chuckling, I take the bottle from her and put it back in the fridge.
“Let’s dance.”
Her eyes threaten to bug out of her head. “I hate dancing.” Her eyes dart around like she’s afraid all these people here will be judging her.
“We’re at a party, Van. Let go,” I urge her. Holding out a hand, I plead, “Trust me. You had fun dancing with me at Harvey’s, didn’t you?”
Her eyes flicker back and forth from my outstretched hand to my own eyes, and I see the hesitation in hers. My stomach drops because I don’t know if the hesitation is from truly not wanting to dance or if she’s thinking of how last time I ended up kissing her.
I take another gulp of beer and stick it in the fridge beside hers. “We’re doing this.”
I don’t give her a chance to overthink it or protest before I take her hand and lead her out of the kitchen.
It’s not the song playing, but a couple of guys are yell-singing Harry Styles’ Sweet Creature at Cree.
“What are they doing?” Vanessa eyes the rowdy hockey players surrounding Cree who’s standing in the corner of the room with a drink.
“Ah, it’s a thing they do a lot with him.”
“Why?” she asks, crinkling her nose again. I’m not sure she’s aware she does it and it’s one of those things I find endearingly adorable about her.
“His name’s Cree.” I shrug like that explains it all, because to me it does.
“I’m still not following.”
“Oh, the guys on the hockey team call him Creature because of his name.”
I put my hands on her hips, and she stiffens for a second. Exhaling a breath, she loosens a small bit.
“Relax,” I murmur in her ear, “dancing is supposed to be fun.”
Blue eyes, dark as the ocean, stare back at me. “I’m sure it is, if you have rhythm.”
I chuckle, my fingers splaying onto her ass as I encourage her to move to the same beat. “You’ve got rhythm. Believe me.” Her cheeks pinken at my words, and she starts to tense up again. She looks around the room, anywhere but at me. “Get outta that pretty head of yours.”
Her eyes dart back to mine, determination glinting there. Her arms wind around my neck, and I don’t know what comes over her, but she lets go of whatever was holding her back and really starts to dance. I move with her, getting lost in the music, in the feel of our bodies.
I’ve always loved dancing, which isn’t something I readily admit to. Baseball is fun, and I do love it, but it’s hard work and long hours of practice. Dancing is a way to express myself. Sure, I’m no professional and not any good, but that doesn’t matter, and it’s what I want Vanessa to realize. You don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it.
Vanessa licks her full pink lips, and my eyes track the movement helplessly. I swallow thickly, cursing myself for being affected by every little thing she does. The thing about this girl is she’s sexy as fuck and doesn’t even know it. She’s not trying to turn me on like so many other girls have in the past.
She turns around, shimmying her ass against my crotch, and I bite back a groan.
“Van,” I say in a low, warning growl.
She stiffens when she notices my rock-hard erection. Looking over her shoulder at me, her eyes are filled with surprise. “Is that for me?”
I wrap my hand around her neck, holding her in place so she can’t look away from me.
“You know it is.”
Her lips lift into a coy smile. “I probably shouldn’t like that.” Her voice drops to a low murmur, “But I do.”
Fuck.
My hands tighten on her hips. “Van,” I growl her name in warning, and she gives a small laugh, spinning back around to face me.
“You know,” she giggles, rubbing her fingers against the back of my neck, “I think you’re right. Dancing isn’t so bad.”
“Don’t toy with me.” I narrow my eyes on her.
She laughs, standing up on her tiptoes so she can reach my ear. “But it’s so fun.” She drags a finger down my chest, her eyes following the trail she makes. “We can’t go there, though. I won’t … I won’t do that.”
I lower my head like I’m going to kiss her, and she gasps, but I move from her lips to the crook of her neck. “Are you sure about that?”
Startled eyes dart to mine and then her arms slacken around me as she moves away. I silently curse myself for saying that. I didn’t mean it. I know nothing like that can happen between us. I need her too much to ruin our arrangement just because I want to fuck her. But sometimes I can’t help the things I say.
“Come on,” I reach for her hand, “I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say.”
She glowers at me, and despite being nearly a foot shorter than me I somehow feel like I’m being scolded and put in my place.
“Yeah, it was.” That blue-eyed glare holds me prisoner in the center of the room. Other couples continue to dance but shoot us annoyed glances for standing in place. “That shit might work with other girls, but not me. I know … I know what this arrangement is, and it’s not real,” she whispers the last under her breath so no one else can hear, but I’m able to read her lips. “I won’t allow myself to be used. Never again.”
“Fuck,” I curse, looking away from her when I realize what she’s reminded of. In my lust induced haze it didn’t even cross my mind. “I would never do that to you. I swear it.”
She looks me solidly in the eyes and after an appraising moment, nods. “You’re right, you wouldn’t. Underneath all the cocky things you say, you’re a good guy, Teddy, but please, stop talking about getting me in bed. I’m…” She pauses and gestures to my suddenly tight jeans. “Flattered, and yeah, you’re hot, but this,” she wags a finger between us, “isn’t for that, and I won’t blur the lines.”