Don’t. Do. It.
My hands go numb, so I shake them out, then slam my fist down on the bar. I can’t take it—not knowing.
Is it his number? Something about the rain? A picture? A message? What the hell did he leave me?
At the very last second, I give in.
I sweep the napkin aside.
Oh Noah.
Alex!” Elijah calls out, my simple name sounding so filthy and seductive as it rolls off his Spanish tongue.
Nervously, I lick my dry lips.
I need water.
And lip balm.
A bourbon.
With strawberries.
And a fucking prison cell to keep me from going to hell because there’s no doubt in my mind that’s where I’m headed.
I’d love to dance with you, Alex.
The words echo in my head as Elijah’s lips come crashing down on mine—right as I shove Noah’s keycard into my pocket.
Heat, guilt, plastic, lips… all colliding into one.
The hard plastic scrapes across my thigh, slicing into my conscience like a blade, sharp with guilt, as I hum into Elijah’s mouth.
He chuckles, breath hot and tangled in a mix of English and Spanish.
“Elijah.” I pant his name, barreling into his sexy words, removing my hand from my pocket and my mind from spiraling into temptation.
I reach for his water.
“Ah… almost forgot about the water.” He winks, tilting his head back just as my eyes catch the back of Noah’s sandy-blond hair and slender bare shoulder slipping through the crowd as if retreating behind a wall of rain.
Just disappears. Doesn’t even spare a glance back.
Breezes out of my life as easily as he breezed into it.
Goodbye, my pretty dancer.
“Ready to leave?” Elijah asks, offering me the rest of his water.
Pulling myself together, I swallow the last drops, tasting the faint flavor of bourbon and spice still clinging to the bottle’s rim.
And I feel so fucking guilty.
For failing to be strong.
For teetering on the edge of temptation.
For kissing someone I never had the right to touch.
