Tryst Page 6

  His statement is one that I know is supposed to rile me up, but with my alcohol-fueled confidence, I decide to do something even I’m not expecting.

  I walk away.

  I don’t make it three steps when a strong grip curves over my hips again, twirling me around in the darkness. My eyes collide with Blake’s, and his perturbed look only solidifies his perfect features. I want to hate it, but I can’t.

  “Dance with me,” he demands.

  I fold my arms in front of me and tilt my head. “Haven’t you heard? My brother doesn’t want any of his friends to touch me.”

  Blake’s lips twitch. “Who said he has to know?”

  Before I can form a rebuttal, he is pulling me toward a corner that seems strategically selected.

  I tug my hand free. “Blake!”

  He faces me, and I find his smile to be instigative. “Here will do fine.”

  As if I stopped because I liked the location, I roll my eyes, trying to stifle my exasperated laughter. “You’re ridiculous. You know that?”

  I get the sinking feeling that Blake is having a hard time keeping his hands off me as he places them back on my hips, tugging me close so that we’re flush against each other. He forces my hips to move to the beat with his. The contact is shocking as electricity shoots down my spine with the length of his body pressed against me.

  I have to suppress my groan at the feeling it elicits. My blood feels as if it’s on fire, and at this point, I cannot tell if it is alcohol induced or Blake induced.

  Trying to regain my equilibrium, I say, “I thought you weren’t showing.” My tone is breathier than I would like, but loud enough for him to hear.

  Continuing with gyrating his hips against mine, he grabs for each of my hands and places them around his neck. I don’t protest. I realize that this feels like I’m breaking the rules already, but it doesn’t mean I stop him.

  The music is so loud that he leans in close, and his humid breath against my ear has me letting out an unrestrained sigh.

  “I was working. I’m surprised Josh didn’t mention it.”

  I am quick to quip, “I didn’t ask.”

  He pulls away, and wrinkles his nose as I shoot him a glare.

  “I’d tell you how amazing you look, but I don’t want to fuel your ego any more than it already has been.”

  My brows furrow at the comment. He’s not winning with me tonight.

  “Don’t act like you know anything about my ego. It’s bruised and broken, if you must know.” My honesty startles me, but before I have time to scold myself, he pulls my body harder against his, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of each muscly sinew of his abdomen.

  “Well then, fine. I’ll let you know that I think you look. . . . incredible.”

  I purse my lips, and he laughs.

  To my disappointment, he takes a deliberate step back, breaking our contact.

  “Now tell me how I look.”

  I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter. “Oh, so you’re funny now?”

  With a goading expression, he places his hands dramatically on his hips. “Now, Skyler, don’t act like you know anything about my sense of humor . . .” He mirrors my previous tone.

  I realize I deserve that, and give him a once-over. The liquid courage I devoured earlier gives me the confidence to appraise him openly, and dammit, the bastard looks good.

  His lean, toned physique is decked out in gray pants that hang hypnotically on his hips, and he wears a matching vest, with a white dress shirt underneath that hugs his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, and his brown hair is slicked back. What tops off the ensemble, though, is his bright red bowtie. Even in that outfit, I can tell there is nothing but wonderful muscle underneath that hipster vest. I’ve seen it.

  I wave my hand in an exaggerated manner. “Dashing as ever, good sir.”

  He nods and moves in to bring me closer while letting out a rewarding laugh. I place my hands back around his neck with ease.

  His eyes glitter in the dim room, and his hands skim over the bare skin of my back. “Why thank you, Skyler. Another compliment from you? Who would have thought.”

  I make the mistake of shooting my eyes to his lips, and I watch them slink upward, as if he’s noticed.

  I recover from my mistake, bringing my eyes back to his, and I shake my head.

  “How am I supposed to keep away when you’re such a tempting morsel?”

  The statement shocks me, and my face heats. Although buzzed, my mind tells me to check myself.

  I step away from his grasp as a precaution. “You aren’t allowed to say things like that.”

  A wicked curve appears on his lips. “No, you’re wrong. I’m allowed to say whatever I want. What I’m not allowed to do is what I want.”

  The statement is staggering, and I take in a deep breath, wondering what the correct plan of action is.

  “I think I need another drink.”

  Blake laughs, and I join him.

  “Skyler! There you are!”

  I whip around to see a face I wanted to see so badly earlier, but now I want it far, far away from me.

  “Of course. Here comes your boyfriend, pre-med Dick.”

  I shoot Blake a glare, but have a hard time holding back my smile. “That’s not nice,” I tut.

  “I’m not really that nice of a guy. Only to you.”

  My eyes widen at the confession, but I’m not given a chance to respond as Rich approaches us, ending any such conversation.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Although Blake is standing only a few feet away, and whatever that was that just happened between us, well, happened, I turn to Rich. “You seemed preoccupied to me.”

  He takes a step closer to me, making me have to look up to see his endearing gray stare that is far less entrancing than the emerald one I’m beginning to know far too well.

  He shoots a quick glance toward Blake, and then back to me. “You know I’d prefer your attention if you’d give it to me.”

  His tone is warm and pleading. I have to look away.

  He grabs for my chin, tugging it affectionately, forcing me to look at him. “You’re the one I want. I know you know that.”

  Before I have time to respond, he places a quick, chaste kiss on my lips. The maneuver shocks me. Not because he hasn’t done it before, but because we’re in public. It’s a move that Rich saves for study sessions, or cuddles in corners of libraries. Right now, it feels like a mixture of lustful longing and an exclamation of property, causing me to question its sincerity.

  I turn to look at Blake, but he is already walking away, his back disappearing in the crowd.

  Chapter 10

  I don’t know what’s come over me. I can’t figure out what I’m angry about, but I feel like my feathers have most definitely been ruffled.

  Wait, scratch that. I know exactly what I’m angry about, and I’m aware that it’s unjustified and plain silly.

  “Skyler, are you okay? Was that jackass bothering you?”

  Rich’s last question is what has my eyes swinging back to his. “No, no one is bothering me. We were talking.”

  The corner of his mouth twists. All I want is a good time.

  “Dance with me?”

  I press my palm flat against his toned chest. “How about I rain check you on the dance, and we head back to the table?”

  Rich is always ready to accept defeat, but seems grateful for whatever little bit I am willing to offer.

  He grabs my hand from his chest and places a quick kiss against the back of it before giving it a gentle squeeze. “I will get that dance someday, Skye.”

  When we get to the table, I see that most everyone has returned except for my brother and Vanessa. It takes every fiber in my body not to turn toward the dance floor to get a glimpse of their bodies grinding against each other. My fuzzy brain takes note of the bumping rap melody that cuts through the thick air of the nightclub.

  I lean
over the table to reach for a beverage. Any beverage will do, whether it is mine or someone else’s. I just need a sip.

  I freeze when I lock onto his blazing green stare, and then drag my eyes to see a strange girl nuzzling into Blake’s neck. I should have assumed Blake wouldn’t arrive alone. I’m an idiot.

  Even without seeing her face, I know she’s most likely beautiful. Her long, slender legs emerge from her pastel pink dress, crossed daintily in front of her¸ and her sleek hand is wrapped around Blake’s neck.

  I almost don’t want to see her face. It would be too much. It would make me feel inadequate. My legs are nowhere near as attractive, and her cascading blond hair has me standing shell-shocked and envious. This is the type of woman Blake is attracted to. Not me. I’m merely a game. A girl who he can chase and add to his list.

  I realize I’m staring when I notice Blake’s brows furrow.

  I grab for a half-full rum and Coke on the table. As if to mock me, I see him lean toward the blond to join her giggling.

  Am I funny to him?

  I feel like I could throw up.

  I take the glass and gulp down the rest. Blake flinches but does not disturb the girl beside him.

  I notice his eyes begin with my feet and glide up my body. His look is feral and hot, and I don’t know what any of it means.

  I want to say something snarky, but instead, I close my eyes and do the next stupid thing of the night.

  With Rich still holding my hand, I turn to him and smile. “How ’bout that rain check? Want to dance?”

  Rich’s evident look of glee is heartwarming and gut-wrenching. I don’t want to use Rich to make Blake jealous, but the alcohol running through my veins says this is the appropriate thing to do.

  I don’t need to check that Blake is staring, because my instincts tell me he is.

  I grin, staring at Rich, and examine his boyish good looks. He’s honest, caring, and sincere when it comes to how he feels for me.

  He’s an entirely better person than Blake.

  Before I run off, I dart my stare toward the table to see Blake’s eyes blazing out of control. I shoot him a scowl, and wonder how much nonverbal communication we can base our friendship on, because this is getting ridiculous.

  I turn to Rich, who deserves every bit of my attention. I lean toward him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips, and pull him onto the dance floor. I don’t look at Blake, because he doesn’t deserve it.

  I feel hot. My skin is warm to the touch, and I know it’s because of my lack of pace when it comes to my consumption of drinks this evening. A part of me feels I should find my friends to touch base, but Rich’s arms are quick to grab for my waist, pulling me close.

  Though my joints feel rigid I press my body against the front of his tall frame. When I look at the warmth in Rich’s gray eyes, and his hands placed on my hips in the most gentlemanly manner he can manage, I cannot help but think that I’m such a fool.

  He leans in close. “I’m glad we are finally getting to dance. I thought I was gonna have to wait much longer.”

  I wrinkle my nose, smelling the pungent aroma of alcohol hitting my senses from his breath, and I decide that this is the reason why we are here. I wonder if he needed the liquid courage as much as me.

  “I’m glad we got to dance, too.”

  Our hips sway to the beat, and Rich is in no way a magnificent dancer when combined with his height, but he keeps to the beat, swaying and occasionally grinding against my body.

  When I place my hands on his arms, I notice beads of sweat forming on his brow.

  “I don’t want to see Heather anymore.”

  The abrupt statement throws me, and I find it funny that he wants to talk about his ex right now.

  “It’s okay, Rich,” I quip.

  He gulps, and a bead of sweat drips down the side of his face.

  “It’s not okay, Skye. It’s unfair to you.”

  I throw back my head and laugh. “I think you’ve got that backward. I’m the one being unfair to you.”

  It’s the truth. It’s my fault that I’m bipolar with the attention.

  With the awkward lighting, I find it odd that I suspect his skin is paling.

  “No, really. You wouldn’t be that way if I could be loyal to you.”

  I take in a deep breath, and I’m ready to argue that we are not dating, and that being friends is more important, but when I notice a second drop of sweat fall from his forehead, I ask, “Rich, are you feeling all right? You look about ready to faint or something.”

  He heaves in a slow gulp of oxygen, and his eyes dart all over my face. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it.

  I ask again, “Rich, what’s wrong?”

  “You’re right. I think I have to puke, and this is awful. I want to talk—”

  I take a small step back, waving a hand between us. “Rich, it’s okay. We can always talk later.” I bring my hand up to cup his face. “Do you want me to walk you to the bathroom?”

  He leans into my touch, but covers his mouth with his hand. “I’d like to save some of my dignity. Stay here. I’ll be back. I’ve really screwed this up.”

  I let out a giggle at his sincerity as I watch his brimming nausea, and I want to ask him how much he drank.

  “Just go, Rich. No harm done. You can be really adorable sometimes.”

  The last comment has him revealing an endearing grin, but his body jolts. I go wide-eyed, worried he might projectile vomit all over me.

  Luckily, he doesn’t. He turns around and sprints in the other direction.

  I take a moment to laugh as I stand in the middle of the dance floor, alone.

  Thinking I want nothing to do with what awaits me at the table, I do the only thing I can manage.

  I dance.

  Normally this isn’t my thing, but with the alcohol running through my veins at its peak, and wanting nothing more than to not be judged by anyone at this moment, I swing my hips, close my eyes, and raise my hands to the ceiling, absorbing the music. This moment is mine.

  The bumping bass wraps around me, and I let go.

  I never get to let go.

  The thought of someone coming up and dancing with me never crossed my mind, because to be honest, I never considered myself one of those approachable girls. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress.

  So when a firm grasp at my hips comes from behind, my body freezes.

  The man behind me presses his front to my back, swaying to the music, guiding me, rather than the other way round.

  Being led feels nice, and I owe myself a little flirting on the dance floor. From what I’ve heard from my friends, it seems like a harmless interaction that a girl owes herself from time to time.

  My body goes limp against the man’s towering frame, and I allow my eyes to sink closed as my hips grind against his. No one is on this dance floor to judge me. No one is here begging for my attention. Just a stranger looking for a good time. No attachments. This is what I need.

  The hands on my hips feel strong, and my body sings at the contact. Each neuron sparks and ignites erratically, and I like it. I can’t tell if my body is simply deprived of a man’s touch, or if I’m just that drunk.

  I throw caution to the wind, not going out of my way to identify him as I let his skilled hips guide me any which way he pleases.

  I hope my brother is busy elsewhere, or he might kill me.

  I lean my head to the side, and what happens next startles me.

  The man behind me drags his nose up the nape of my neck to my ear. I’ve heard stories from Jennifer of dance floor affairs, but even this seems gutsier than I would assume. The stranger’s lips hover above my ear, calling my body to attention, and he manages a whisper even with the pounding music.

  “I can’t stop staring at you tonight.”

  My body petrifies. I feel Blake’s short burst of laughter against my skin, his warm humid breath making a mark.

  “You didn’t think I would be able to leave
you alone, did you?”

  I shoot glances around us to make sure no familiar faces are nearby. This feels dangerous.

  His hands holding my hips force the movement back and forth, egging me to dance more as he presses his body harder against mine. I obey, grinding against him, wondering what the right thing to do is when everything wrong feels so good.

  My heart beats out of control, and my breaths are shallow. I don’t have the nerve to look at him. His voice and touch are enough right now. If I look, I might combust.

  “Don’t you think it’s rude to leave your date?”

  Another chuckle erupts from his lips. “Probably.”

  My mouth slithers into a smile. “You really are an asshole, Blake.”

  “I know, but I couldn’t help myself when I saw that your boyfriend had run off.”

  I don’t have it in me to argue, and because I don’t, I can feel his grip tighten at my waist.

  A gasp escapes my lips. The only thing I can manage is to continue dancing.

  A hand slides a little lower to the top of my thigh, dangerously close to a private part of my body, and it takes every fiber in my body not to clench my thighs together. A couple of his fingertips grace the bare flesh beneath the hem of my dress.

  I heave in a deep breath, and grab for the hand inching too close, lifting it from my skin. I finally get the courage to turn around and face him. He looks damn smug.

  He presses my front abruptly against him, and my lips twist wryly.

  “What’s your deal, Blake?” I feel like we are repeating our earlier conversation.

  “Can’t I enjoy your company? It’s just a dance.”

  His eyes glitter and I let out a giggle.

  “I think that with you, nothing is ever that simple.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m having a hard time reading you.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Do you have to understand everything? Why can’t you just allow us to have this?”

  The question sounds absurd, but in full-blown bad-girl mode, I agree. “Okay.”

  I feel like Eve in the Garden of Eden, listening to the serpent.

  With that thought, I take note that his wonderfully charming grin was made for the devil himself, and the butterflies caged in my gut flutter uncontrollably.