“Nah.” Vaughn gives a casual shrug, his face unreadable. “Not really my thing, but don’t let that stop you. I’ll probably cut out soon anyway.”
Carter snorts. “I’m sitting at a table with two big-ass dudes—who’ve already chased off my only prospect like a bunch of overprotective cockblockers—so I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed.”
She cuts her eyes at me when she sayscockblockersbecause apparently I’m doing a shit job hiding my intentions. Doesn’t matter. She’s just given me an opening. If I know anything about Carter, she won’t back down from a challenge.
“You wanna dance? I’ll dance with you,” I say, throwing down the gauntlet.
She freezes, probably hoping like hell she misheard.
“I’m a pretty good dancer.” I flash her a cocky grin like this is the best idea I’ve had all day. And let’s be honest, it kind of is. “Ask Vaughn.”
She looks at him warily, realizing too late she’s backed herself into a corner. There was no scenario where I wasn’t going to call her bluff. She’ll have to put up or shut up.
“He’s a regular twinkle toes,” Vaughn deadpans. He lifts his beer and empties the glass in one long chug. “Might as well. I’m heading out anyway.”
“So soon?” Carter asks, panic flashing in her eyes.
“Got a paper to write tomorrow.” Vaughn climbs to his feet and slaps a few bills down on the table. “See y’all at practice.”
When Vaughn’s gone, I fix my gaze on Carter. “What do you say? You up for it?”
She huffs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Just try not to step on my toes.”
26
KENNEDY
Why didI say I wanted to dance? And why did I let Becca talk me into this stupid tank top? The back plunges nearly to the waistband of my skirt, leaving a long column of skin exposed. I can feel Reid’s eyes on my bare flesh as he guides me to a dark corner of the dance floor, hand pressed gently to my lower back. Warmth radiates from his body and I want nothing more than to feel his fingers skimming down my spine so I can soak up their heat.
Which makes no sense, because, hello, it’s Reid.
Totally. Off. Limits.
Dammit. This was a terrible idea. I never should’ve brought up dancing. Of course Reid called my bluff. And now I’m stuck with him for at least one song. No way I’m backing down. Because of the stunt he pulled with the frat dude, not because I actually need to feel his body pressed to mine.
Obviously.
The opening chords of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blast through the sound system, and I throw my arms up and do a little shimmy. Becca’s tiny skirt rides up on my hips, revealing even more of my thighs than before. I should pull the skirt back down—it’s getting downright scandalous—but when I glance over my shoulder at Reid, he’s staring at my legs like they might be the death of him.
Good. Serves you right for being a controlling ass!
Encouraged by Reid’s reaction, I do the shimmy again and sway to the music, tossing my hair over my shoulder like I’ve seen Becca do a million times before. I start to move in time with the beat, keeping my back to Reid as I sway my hips seductively, inviting him closer. If we’re going to continue this battle of wills, you can bet your ass I’m playing to win.
Apparently, so is Reid.
The song’s half over before his restraint cracks. He steps up behind me, matching the lazy rhythm of my hips as he molds his body to mine. I stiffen instinctively at the closeness, but relax after a beat, melding my back to his chest. His cock is flush against my ass, and I give another slow sweep of my hips, enjoying the feel of his hard length against my backside.
This is wrong on about twelve freaking levels, but in the dark with the happy glow of alcohol buzzing through my system, it feels right. Why shouldn’t I dance with Reid? It doesn’t mean anything, and he did scare the frat guy off.
Not that I was into him, but still.
I raise my arms over my head, letting the beat of the music drive my movements as the heavy bass reverberates through my body. I’ve always loved dancing, that feel of letting go of everything and connecting with something bigger than yourself. The hem of my tank inches skyward, exposing the flesh beneath. Before I can cover it up, Reid skims calloused fingers over the curve of my hip, leaving a trail of scorched skin and unfettered desire in his wake.
I’m so screwed.
We lose ourselves in the beat of the music, sweaty bodies saying everything our mouths can’t or shouldn’t. As one song bleeds into another, our limbs moving in harmony, I forget about all the reasons this is a bad idea.
All the reasons Reid’s off-limits.
