SYLAS
Friday, December 6
It was only supposedto be one dance. At least it’s what I told myself, but then one became two, two became six, and then I lost track of time.
It all started when she stepped on Owen Kovinsky’s foot. He rightfully deserved it for touching her without her permission, which I surmised when he came bitching to me.
I may be an egotistical, arrogant, cocky, womanizing show-off—and whatever else they say about me—but one thing I’m not is disrespectful.
But Owen is my teammate, so I did what any good friend would do. I talked to Chris, Salt’s head of security who used to work with Mom, and asked him to kick Owen out.
He’ll either hate me or be thankful that’s all I did. Either way, I don’t care.
His presence was long forgotten by the time I approached Anna. It took me a minute to go up to her, because what would I say? It’s clear she dislikes me, possibly even hates me. So, Iwatched from a distance, saw four other guys attempt to do what Owen did, and had all four kicked out.
That’s when I decided to make a move. I couldn’t just stand here. Marc and some of the other guys were giving me shit about it; Frost even said he’d go if I didn’t. He claimed he was only playing, trying to annoy me, but I heard the interest in his voice.
I didn’t anticipate her dismissing me like I was a nobody. That might’ve been a bit of a bruise to my ego, but I’ve never been known to give up.
That’s how I found myself in this predicament, semi hard and not wanting to let her go. I’ve tried talking to her, get a conversation flowing, but she’s not interested in hearing what I have to say. She doesn’t seem to mind my hands on her or grinding her ass on me, but I wish I could just talk to her for a moment.
“Congratulations.” She pivots on her heel, smirking up at me once we’ve nestled in a corner to ourselves. I’ve got my back to everyone behind us, but I leave enough space so she knows she’s free to walk away when she wants.
“For what?” I trace over her features, noting and memorizing how rich and black her hair is, how dark her whiskey eyes are. They almost look black, but I know they’re not. Her glossy red lips are supple and, I’m sure, very fucking kissable.
“For keeping your hands to yourself.” She slants her head to the side, folding her arms against her chest and causing her breasts to push up.
I’m going to hell because I stare long enough that I notice two things: She’s not wearing a bra, and I’m certain her nipples are pierced.
I clear my throat, then move to lean against the wall. “What can I say? My parents taught me better.”
“They must be proud.” Sarcasm drips from her mouth, the smirk only indenting deeper on her face.
“Oh, super proud.” I match her tone, but then I drop the snark. “Anna, I’m really sorry about?—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.” The playful expression on her face becomes blank. “I don’t want to think about grades or work or whatever. I just want to have a good time tonight. So, let’s not bring it up, and now that we’re done, I’m going to go find my friend.”
“Wait,” I rush to say. “I—” I don’t know why I’m doing this or why it even matters, but I know if I let her go now, I’ll hate myself for it. I do a physical three sixty and extend my hand out. “Hi, I’m Sylas. What’s your name?”
Her gaze flickers to my hand and back up to me, where she appears between amused and stupefied. I realize how stupid this is, and I know she’s probably thinking the same thing. It’s dark in here, but I’m close enough that I can gauge the reaction on her face.
She shocks me though when she slips her small hand in mine. “Hi, I’m Anna.”
I smile and she smiles and something strange happens in my stomach, like a swarm of butterflies have been let loose. Or like a strike of electricity shot straight to my heart.
“Are you having a good time, Anna?”Jesus. Awkward enough, Sy?
But she smiles, all lighthearted and pretty. “Please don’t be weird.”
I let go of her hand. “I’m not being weird. I’m making conversation.”
“Conversation?” She scoffs a laugh, and it comes out raspy. “Yeah, I guess I’m having a good time. My dancing partner is fairly decent.”
“Fairly decent?” I’m taken aback. “I thought I was pretty good.”
She winces, scrunching her nose. “I’m sorry, but you’ve been lied to. It’s okay, we all can’t be good at everything.” She pats my shoulder patronizingly.
I chuckle, breathing her in and getting a hint of strawberry, vodka, and vanilla. “Not all, but most things.”
