I slip behind the bar and pluck an apron from under the counter.
“Ready for some action?” Bryson curls into me, and, for a moment, I think he’s propositioning me.
“Action? I bet half of the girls that come in this place are trying to get lucky with an Edwards brother.” I wink as I tie the white frilly apron around my waist.
Holt barks out a laugh, and I startle. I didn’t see him swoop on over, really I was referencing one Edwards in particular, that being Bryson.
“Listen, sweetheart”—Holt leans in with that come hither look in his eye—“if you can’t find an Edwards brother to pleasure you tonight, track me down at about three in the morning.” He socks Bryson in the arm before heading to the other end of the bar.
“That wasn’t awkward,” I say, mostly to myself.
“If you’re in the market for an Edwards brother, I can tell you Holt’s the wrong one—unless, of course, you’re also in the market for a medication-resilient STD. Then you’re free to venture.”
“Oh? Does his scoreboard put yours to shame?”
His lids hood over. “The only thing I’ve scored lately is a clean bill of health per my last physical.” A slight dimple goes off on his left cheek. His face looks tan from the boat ride this afternoon, and his stubble has taken over, giving him that hot, scruffy look I’m a sucker for. He leans onto the bar and gazes at me as if he’s flirting.
“So”— I swallow hard, never taking my eyes off his—“which Edwards brother is the right one?”
The music cuts out, and a sharp bite of feedback takes over the speakers, inspiring ten different people in the vicinity to cover their ears. A slow song starts in and resettles the mood in the room.
Bryson pinches his lips together, taking me in as if I was dessert, but he doesn’t answer the question. Instead, he tilts his head and stares into me dreamily, at least that’s the story I’m buying.
“You want to dance?” He nods over to a small clearing between the tables.
“I’ve never seen anyone dance here before.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and I take a breath at the prospect of holding his perfect body to mine.
“I think maybe it’s time people start.” Bryson clasps onto my fingers and gently threads us through the crowd until we’re centered in the tiny clearing. He pulls me in and wraps his arms around my waist, warming me from head to toe with an instant inferno. His knees press against my inner thighs, he intertwines our fingers, and another wave of heat sears through me. Bryson never takes his eyes off mine while his pelvis pushes into me as if giving me the carnal green light.
My throat goes dry. My heart thumps in my ears so loud I swear he can hear it.
I glance up at him starry eyed. Bryson Edwards is the sex god of Whitney Briggs, and he’s dancing with me. In. Public.
A group of girls turn their heads in our direction just as a few other couples meander over and dance alongside us.
“Looks like your evil plan worked.” I bite down over my lower lip to keep from spewing out any additional suggestions that might work, such as reenacting our moves in a horizontal position sans clothing. God knows that the nightmare at Alpha Chi has unleashed word vomit central in my brain.
“I figured if you’re in the market for an Edwards brother, I might as well put my best foot forward—literally.” He gives a lopsided grin, and my stomach pinches.
“Yeah, well, you’re a pretty good kisser so I’d be a fool not to choose you.” What am I saying?Chooseyou? I’m the desperate one, not the other way around. Besides, it was just one kiss—one long, fantastic, mind-blowing lip exchange that will play out in my fantasies until I’m dust and bones, but, nevertheless, he relegated me and my pucker to the buddy rack before the night was through, so there’s that. I’ve practically made a pass at him on three other occasions but he’s declined every offer since that magical night. I guess Laney was right, parking lot magic isn’t a real thing after all.
“You want to blow this place and go have some fun?” His eyes hood over again, and a surge of adrenaline pulsates in that sweet spot between my legs.
Oh God. What the hell isgood timecode for? Am I really going to sleep with Bryson and become some nameless tally mark on his wall?
A tiny voice that creeps from somewhere deep in my vagina screams a loud, demanding,hell yes.
“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I’m ready to have all the fun you’re willing to give me.”Give me?I glance down at his chest briefly. Who the hell has taken over my mouth? This is exactly what I swore I would never do, meaningless sex with cute frat boys. Even if he’s not a frat boy, the premise is still the same. I want it to mean something. I want Bryson to care about me, to wantmein more than just a sexual sense—well, ideally anyway. Maybe he feels like the only way to get me off his back is to pin me down with his boy toy and get it over with? And, sadly, he’s probably right.
Laney gives a thumbs-up from over his shoulder, and I try not to break out in a goofy grin.
Bryson swivels his hands up over my back, and my insides give a mean quiver. He leans in with his cheek an inch away from mine, and I can feel the heat emanating off his skin in waves. The song wraps up, and he leads me by the hand to the exit, giving Holt a quick wave on our way out the door.
The crisp night air enlivens my senses, and then it hits me—I’m off to who knows where on a Saturday night with Bryson Edwards. And if that doesn’t qualify as a date then I don’t know what does.
“So where to?” I jump a little at the thought of going anywhere with the god of good times at my side.
“How about we start with dinner?”
