Olivia’s spine is straight, and her hands are placed in her lap—perfect posture to go with her perfect clothes. Perfect hair, never a strand out of place. I study her in the glow of the theater as she stares ahead. Does she ever relax? Let loose? Something tells me she doesn’t, and I’m dying to pull her out of her skin. See what’s underneath her perfect exterior.
I hold the bucket of popcorn toward her, but she shakes her head. I push it closer until she huffs, giving in and grabbing a handful. She tosses a few pieces in her mouth, and before chewing, pops a couple of Milk Duds in. Huh. Never thought about doing that. Her throat bobs as she swallows, and her tongue comes out to lick her lips. The action is so innocent, yet my dick still wants to react.
Her head swivels toward me slowly, catching me watching. I don’t fight the slight smirk that slips onto my lips before I turn and pretend to watch the movie.
By the time the end credits roll, I couldn’t tell you a single thing that happened. I spent two hours staring at Olivia from the corner of my eye. A few times, she shifted in her seat, and my hand itched to grip her knee, steady her. Slide up her thigh and feel the material of the little tights covering her legs. I wondered if what that dickwad from the bar said about her skirt would deter her from wearing them. I’m glad to see it hasn’t.
Her legs were made for skirts.
We exit the theater, and Travis and I stand off to the side while they use the bathroom.
“I think we should hit up Pulse next. Ellie wants to dance,” Travis says.
I shrug, knowing he doesn’t give a damn what I think.
The dance club is only a ten-minute drive and not very crowded, but it’s Wednesday night. Travis and I walk ahead, and the girls follow a step behind us, whispering to each other.
“I’ll only have one drink tonight. I want you to have fun. Remember what I said. I got you,” Ellie says quietly, but I hear it. I try to catch Olivia’s response, but we’re closer to the entrance now, and anything she said is drowned out by the bass thumping from inside.
The bouncer checks our IDs and lets us enter. There’s a crowd in the middle of the dance floor already, grinding on each other. A DJ is in the back, bumping music that makes my ears bleed, and the mix of colored lights flashing across the room have me fucking dizzy.
I hate places like this.
I grab a table off to the side. Ellie and Olivia follow me while Travis heads to the bar.
“We’ve never been here before,” Ellie says over the music. It’s quieter over here, but not enough that you can talk in a normal voice. Travis appears at the table with his hands full. He sets two beers down for us and hands the girls a shot.
“What is this?” Olivia asks, eyeing the drink suspiciously.
“Tequila.” Travis grins, and she winces before quickly trying to turn it into a grateful smile.
“Cheers!” Ellie yells, clinking her glass with her friend.
Olivia hesitates, but after Ellie tosses hers back, she follows suit. Her face twists as the alcohol slides down her throat. My eyes track the movement, my own bobbing with a hard swallow at the thought of her taking me down her throat.
Travis takes Ellie’s hand and leads her to the dance floor. I stare across the table at Olivia as she watches them go.
“Wanna dance?” I ask. It’s awkward as fuck and I’m not sure what to do with myself. I don’t want to dance, but I’d dance for her.Withher.
She shakes her head, her eyes focused on her friend. “No, thanks.”
The DJ is pumping some sultry song that sounds like shit they played at my middle school dances. Ellie rubs her body all over Travis as he stands behind her. Same thing every other couple in this place is doing.
“I’m going to get another drink.” Olivia scurries off, only to return with a clear cup full of pink liquid. My shoulders shake with a quiet laugh as she takes her seat. Her eyes flash to mine. “What?”
“The hell is that?” I point to her drink.
“Strawberry Sangria,” she says as if it’s obvious.
“Of course.”
She doesn’t waste time. Olivia throws back her drink and rushes to the bar to get another, less than three minutes later. Damn. At this rate, we’re going to be carrying her out.
I make my way over and stand next to her.
“What are you doing?” she asks defensively, her eyes already taking on a glossy sheen. This is the most I’ve seen her drink, and I might not know her well, but her small frame says she can’t hold much more. The three cups of half-full beer she had when we played beer pong were enough to make her unsteady.
“Just getting some water.” I hold my hands up. She’s always so defensive around me. Probably because I can’t stop teasing her, but I like riling her up. I like seeing the fire she tries so hard to hide underneath her polite, reservedexterior.
