Gripping her waist and pulling her back into a roll of my hips, I ignore the doubts running through my mind. The ones that tell me falling in love with a girl at the first college party I’ve attended is not only dumb but a terrible cliché.
It can’t be love.
The voice in my head shouts at me, searching for something, anything to explain away the thing happening to me. But no matter how hard I think about it, how long I wait, the tangle doesn’t go away.
I glance around the room. Bodies writhe all around us. Moving together to the beat of the music blasting through the speakers. Every one of them can blame the shameless bumping and grinding they’re doing on the liquid sloshing around in their red Solo cups, but I’m not drunk. I never get drunk, so it has to be something else.
Something real.
Something more than alcohol-laced lust masquerading as love. And I know I’ll only find out if I get us out of here.
I brush her curls to the side, liking the way she shivers when my fingertips skim her shoulder, and lean forward to whisper in her ear.
“Do you want to get out of here, angel?”
She spins in my arms and nods. Her pupils are blown, hazel giving way to pools of molten gold that burn into me. “Yes,please.”
***
To my surprise, and relief, the absence of other people only seems to intensify our connection. Sloane grabs my hand, pulling me down the street and back toward the path Chris and I took a few hours ago when we walked over, which means she must stay on campus.
We take our time walking back, a slow stroll that gives me time to pull her into my side, feel the warmth of her body melting into me, and notice how much the moonlight loves to caress her skin. Dancing over the elegant features of her face, illuminating the curls cascading down her back. Making her look even more like a celestial being that came down on a cloud from heaven just to capture my heart.
If that celestial being was drunk and stumbling over nothing the entire way back to her dorm.
When Sloane nearly falls for the third time in a row, I ignore her protests and pick her up, cradling her in my arms while she gives me directions back to her building, which is on the nicer side of campus near the cafeteria and student life center.
Everything around us is quiet without the gold heels she’s wearing click-clacking on the sidewalk, but I don’t care because she’s looking up at me with those soft eyes I know will bring me to my knees one day.
“What?” I ask softly, trying to hide how affected I am by the swirl of emotions I see on her beautiful face.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. You’re just a little too nice for a guy who screams trouble.”
“And you’re an exceptionally shitty planner for a girl who came out just to find it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You came to a party for the sole purpose of drinking and hooking up. And you were probably already drunk when you walked across campuswith your friends wearing”—I nod vaguely at the dress hugging her curves—“this.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I wasn’t drunk, and we didn’t walk.” Her chin lifts defiantly. “My roommate drove us. She’s the designated driver for the night.”
Knowing she wasn’t walking around the dark campus in this dress makes it a little better, but she still came to the party, drank like a fish, and lost track of the only people she knew there, one of whom was her ride home.
“This the same roommate who ditched you after she found the guy she was looking for?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I also left her to come find you.”
“And what if we hadn’t met? How were you planning on getting home?”
I can’t even stomach the possibility of any other guy being the one to walk her home tonight. Someone who wouldn’t care she was drunk and would have taken her mile-long legs, golden skin, and full lips as an open invitation regardless of what she said.
Sloane taps on the thin strap of the cross-body bag she’s been carrying all night that’s now sitting in her lap. It’s a small rectangle that’s barely big enough to hold a tube of lip gloss, but she manages to pull a phone out of it.
“See this? It’s called a cell phone. You can use them to get in touch with people who aren’t in the same place as you. Ever heard of one?” Her nose wrinkles as she waves the phone around in my face, letting me see that the device she hinged her entire rescue plan on is dead.
“Do you happen to have a charger in that Ziploc bag you call a purse?”
She frowns. “No. Why?”
