I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. I tip my head back against the couch. “Hundreds? You’re not wrong,” I tease, letting the words hang there, knowing she’ll hate every syllable.
Her eyes narrow. “Gross.”
I shift closer, my knee brushing hers. “Gross would be lying about it, dollface. But you want the truth?” I lean in, just close enough that my lips almost graze her ear. “I haven’t touched anyone since I laid eyes on you.”
She sucks in a breath for a brief second, but I see the way her eyes widen, and her hand stills around the glass.
She hates that I caught it.
Her knee bounces restlessly against mine. Her eyes drop to her drink, anywhere but me, and when she finally looks at me, there’s a scowl on her face, but I’m calling bullshit.
It makes me grin wider. “What’s the matter, Amelia?” I announce, settling back into the cushions. “Cat got your tongue?”
She doesn’t look at me at first as she crosses one leg over the other, her boot swinging idly. “Cute,” she drawls, tilting her head. “Did you practice that one in the mirror first?”
I bark out a laugh, dragging a hand over my mouth. “No, I’m just born with charisma.”
She scoffs into her drink as she takes a sip, rolling her eyes.
I lean back against the couch, tilting my head toward the dance floor where the crowd is nothing but moving shadows under neon. “What do you say we make this night a little less boring?”
Her eyes narrow. “Define less boring.”
I grin, pushing to my feet and offering my hand. “Dance with me.”
She laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “You? Dance?”
“Don’t sound so shocked, dollface,” I shoot back, leaning closer so the lights catch her tattoos and the cameras can’t miss a single second. “I’ve got moves.”
She arches a brow, clearly debating whether this is worth her time, but my hand’s stretched out, waiting for her.
With a muttered curse, she slides her fingers into mine. The second her skin touches mine, I feel it like a jolt straight to my chest.
I tug her up beside me, tucking her close as I guide her toward the stairs.
Spinning us into the press of people, I slide my hand to the small of her back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She stiffens, eyes flashing up at me.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” she yells over the music.
“Dancing,” I shout back, grinning down at her. I tug her closer, our hips brushing as the bass drops. “What’s it look like?”
Here With Meby Peekaboo blasts through the speakers. The drop thunders through my chest, syncing with the pulse in my veins.
Amelia’s back presses into me, hips rolling with the beat, her long black hair catching the flashes of neon from overhead. The scent of her wraps around me, dizzying, and I swear to God, the whole club could fall away and I’d still only see her.
I’ve had women thrown at me throughout my career, and none of them ever made me feel like this. Not one of them made me want something real. But Amelia Hamilton? One song, one dance, and I already know, I’m fucked.
She rolls her eyes, mumbling something I can’t hear, but she doesn’t pull away.
The lights shine on her tattoos, making her look like a living piece of art, and I know every camera in the room is capturing this; her pressed against me, my mouth close to her ear, like we’re two people who can’t get enough of each other.
Maggie’s going to lose her mind when these shots come out.
I dip my head, my lips almost brushing her skin. “Relax, dollface,” I whisper. “You’ll survive one dance with me.”
She tilts her chin up, fire blazing in her green eyes. “One too many, more like.”
I laugh, dragging her in tighter until her chest presses against my ribs, and I don’t let her go as my palm spreads wider over her hip, my thumb skimming the edge of bare skin.
