I nodded, utterly unable to look him in the eye.
“What are you drinking?” he asked, stepping closer to add more scotch to his drink.
“Just soda,” I muttered.
“Good call,” Jacob said cryptically. He waited till I finally looked at him and then shot me a small, secretive smile that sent shivers running down my skin. “This could be a long night.”
He leaned forward again, to get some ice, and for a moment his strong, warm arm was pressed up against mine. As he pulled away, he gave me another sharp grin, and a warm rush of blood flooded through me.
“See you in there,” he murmured.
When he was gone, I let out a careful breath.
I might not have been wrong after all.
For four hours, I played card games with Jacob’s friends and watched as everyone but me and him got progressively drunker. I didn’t contribute much to the party, but once or twice I found myself smiling at everyone’s antics, and about once an hour I got up to refill my drink. Every time, Jacob followed me. The first time, his fingers brushed against mine as he passed me a soda. The second time, as he leaned past me to get a bottle of whiskey, his whole body pressed up against mine.
“How long do these parties usually last?” I asked hoarsely, as he added a shot of whiskey to my soda. “I don’t usually drink,” I added.
“Make an exception for me,” he said. “Everyone should be leaving soon.”
Sure enough, everyone stumbled home over the next half hour. Josh and the pretty girl he’d spilled alcohol on—his girlfriend, Becca, it turned out—were the last two to leave. Jacob had to practically push them out. Between the two of them, they’d downed nearly a full bottle of vodka, and before they left, Becca had climbed onto Josh’s lap and kissed him deeply, giggling as his hands slid down her back.
I watched them covertly, as though I could pick up tips or something. God, I was in well over my head.
Finally, Jacob closed the door behind them. It shut with a very firm click, followed by a heart-stopping rattle as Jacob slid the chain over the lock.
He turned to face me with a grin. As he walked toward me, my heart started thundering in my chest.
“Help me clean up?” he asked.
Biting my lip, I nodded and started collecting discarded plastic cups and beer bottles while he tracked down loose playing cards that had fallen on the floor. Then I followed him out onto the balcony and helped him put caps on all the half-empty bottles. Afterward, he leaned onto the balcony railing, staring out at the twinkling lights of town.
Swallowing hard, I walked over and leaned next to him. I was far too cowardly to brush my arm against his, however much I wanted to. We stared at the lights for a few minutes, then he spoke without looking at me. “Good race today.”
In a rare moment of genius, I found a good answer. “I thought you said it wasn’t that impressive.”
His smile was veiled in the moonlight. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Your race was good, too,” I said.
“You watched it, did you?”
I flushed, caught out. The silence stretched out. I wished I had a drink again. I needed something to do with my hands.
Finally, Jacob chuckled and turned toward me. “You’ve never done this with a guy before, have you?”
Grateful for the darkness, I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Not really,” Jacob repeated. He moved closer and suddenly his fingers were trailing up my arm.
“Never,” I corrected, forcing the word out over a dry throat.
“Never.” Jacob repeated my words again. His fingers traveled farther up my arm, leaving prickles of electricity everywhere they touched. They slid up to my neck as he stepped closer. Two more inches and his body would be pressed against mine. I couldn’t breathe. Every bit of my body felt like it was on fire.
“Let me get this straight,” Jacob murmured, his lips twitching at his choice of words. “You’ve never had a guy do—this.” He leaned forward and brought his lips to my neck, a brush of warmth against sensitive skin.
I shook my head unsteadily. He shifted closer. “Or this,” he said, and pressed another kiss to my jaw. I shook my head again. My brain had completely shut off by that point, and my mouth was paper dry. It was taking every scrap of willpower not to pull him closer, or push him away.
