Trotting up the stairs, I walk into the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror before grabbing a paper towel and soaking it with cold water. I don’t want to ruin my eye makeup because Haven worked hard on that, but I need to at least cool my forehead and cheeks off.
Once I’ve pressed the wet paper towel to my head long enough for my cheeks to go from bright red to a light pink, I toss it into the trash, wash my hands, and head out the door. Even though I know I’m crazy, being upstairs, away from the rest of the crowd, is creeping me out, and I pick up the pace to try to get out of here faster. But I’m barely out of the bathroom and headed toward the staircase when someone speaks, letting me know I’m not up here alone.
“You should be careful, going places all alone, Nineteen,” Hendrix’s deep voice drawls from somewhere behind me. “You don’t know who’s lurking around.”
My feet begin to slow, and a slight smile tugs at my lips. Lately, wherever I go, he seems to be there.
Turning slowly, I shrug. “You mean guys like yourself?”
With his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes playfully narrowed, he takes a few more steps before stopping right before me. “That’s exactly what I mean, Nineteen.”
Reaching forward, he runs his fingers through a loose curl that frames my face. “I like your hair better when it’s down and all wild, Hardy.”
My breath hitches, and I can’t decipher if it’s from his touch, his words, or his delicious scent. But whatever it is, it has my brain going fuzzy.
Blinking a few times, I swallow. “What … are you doing up here?” I whisper. “Why aren’t you downstairs with everyone else?”
“Because you aren’t downstairs,” he says matter-of-factly, as if I should have already known that. “And you coming uphere alone is just asking for trouble. There are people with bad intentions everywhere, Isla.”
In this moment, I don’t know if he’s talking about himself or other people. Because truth be told, I don’t even understand Hendrix’s intentions when it comes to me.
“I can take care of myself, Hunt.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he muses, and as the song below us switches to a slow one, he looks at me, wearing a thoughtful expression. “You know, since you wouldn’t be my date, I think the least you could do is give me one measly dance.”
“And why would I do that?” I shrug. “Why would I dance with you?”
“Because you want to,” he tosses back. “So, come on. What are we waiting for?”
For whatever reason, my lips turn up as I look at this man holding his hand out to me. He’s supposed to be the big bad wolf, yet right now, he seems so gentle.
“Is that a smile?” he drawls, taking in my grin. “Holy fuck, I need to document the day Isla Hardy smiled at me instead of glared or rolled her eyes.”
That only makes my smile grow, though I try to fight it and swat at his chest. I don’t even know why I’m grinning right now, and yet here I am.
“I can’t dance with you, Hunt.” I shrug. “It would be all over social media tomorrow, and I’m not dealing with that.”
“Because your dad is Cam Hardy?” he asks, a questioning look on his face.
I give him a simple nod. “Pretty much.”
It’s just silence between us for a moment before, finally, he swallows. “So, dance with me up here then. There’s no one here to take a picture.” His voice grows raspy. “Just us.”
“Why?” I whisper. “Why do you want to dance with me in the upstairs hallway of a party?”
His fingers rub my chin, and he grins. “Because if it’s the only way I get to, I’ll take it.”
Even though my heart does a flip, I shake my head and laugh at him. “Wow, you’re cheesy, aren’t you?”
“Just for you, Nineteen.” His words come out as serious as a heart attack.
Even though my skin was cooling off, when his hands slide around my waist slowly, I’m back to being on fire yet again. Reluctantly, I skim my hands up his chest and wrap them around his neck, and in the shadows of the hallway, away from chaos and everything else … we dance.
I dance with a guy I swore not long ago that I hated. And the thing is … my heart is telling me that maybe I don’t hate him anymore.
But that’s the problem with guys like him. He’ll confuse my mind and break my heart. And that’s why I can’t let him get too close. This is an exception, but I won’t be making a habit out of things like this.
I turn my mind off to all the shit running through it, and I allow myself to rest my head on his chest as our bodies sway to the music. His hands loop around my back, holding me tightly, and I can’t help but breathe him in, forgetting all the cons of being this close to a bad boy like Hendrix Hunt.
