“We’re live!” Kennedy said, angling her phone toward me.
I bent over, blowing a kiss to the camera. My friends cheered me on as I twirled, doing my best not to pull an Abigail and show the world my…everything. This dress wasn’t designed for dancing. It was designed to sit still and look hot.
I did another twirl, all those years my mother forced meto play ballerina really paying off. As I finished the twirl, my gaze traveled back up to the balcony.
Grim was watching.
I stumbled, nearly falling off the table.
He bent over the railing and crooked his finger.Come hither.I waved, then transformed my wave into the middle finger, before blowing him a kiss.
His lip twitched slightly.
When I went back to dancing, the air changed. I could imagine his hot stare on my neck, and I was no longer dancing for whatever thousands of strangers watched Kennedy’s live. I was dancing for him. The night we shared rushed over me. How I felt then, able to let loose completely, be free.
My dancing transformed, no longer about what would go viral but about those few hours on the beach, the hot, whispered words that had slid into my veins.
Good girl.
I'll kill anyone who touches you.
I had bent over, grasping my ankles, when sharpwhoopsand cheers sounded from my friends. I snapped back to the present with whiplash. I wasn’t on the beach, I washere.
I froze on the table, suddenly feeling exposed.
What the fuck?
Seriously, what the actual fuck was wrong with me? Against my better judgment, I looked back to the balcony. He was gone.
I quickly climbed off the table.
“It already has, like, a hundred thousand likes,” Kennedy said, showing me the video. “Don’t worry. I angled it away when you bent over—people are pissed, though.”
“Don’t forget to tag everyone,” Blaire said. Kennedy waved her away, like,Duh.Kennedy tried to show mesomething from the live, a comment from some rich playboy actor.
I stared at the empty balcony, the shadows moving like smoke.
“Uh, great.” I ran a hand through my hair, damp with sweat. “That’s great. Look, show me later. I need…water.”
“We have water?” Blaire held up one of the many complimentary Fiji waters that came with a private booth and bottle service.
I didn’t respond, weaving my way through the club, toward the back. Far enough away from the main floor, in the shadows where I’d first met Prince HSOG, I watched my friends. Kennedy had climbed on the table, dancing as Blaire filmed.
I rubbed my chest, heart pounding.
What is happening to me?
“What were you doing?”
My heart stuttered and skipped at Grim’s voice, but I refused to turn. I couldfeelhim next to me. Feel the heat of his shoulder next to mine. Smell his unmistakable and irresistible scent, one that belonged only to Grim—dark and earthy, like his soul. It felt like protection. Hear his steady, even breathing. I could practically see the way he dragged his thumb across his jaw.
The heat in his stare.
“Uh…” I swallowed. “Dancing.”
“Someone must have told you it looks good,” he said, and stood in front of me, forcing me to acknowledge him. An inky, wavy lock of hair fell haphazard across one eye. A warmth in them that made my gut twist.
He leaned forward, lips at my neck, like he had a secret. “It doesn’t.”
