“Are you sure you want to drink that?” Saylor asks, concerned when I grab the shot, but I just clink it with Mac and tilt my head back, letting the liquid burn down my throat and warm my insides. “Sure, why not get drunk in a room full of menwho are already leering at you?” He’s like a mother hen and has been in my ears the whole evening, cautioning me to be careful. I shoot him a look. “Hey, I know I’m overbearing, but I know those guys, and some of them are dirty fuckers. I don’t want you to stumble into one of them. I can’t protect you, and it drives me nuts.”
I know what and who he means. I’ve felt enough of their eyes on me while I work. But I don’t believe anything could happen here with so many people around.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, making Mac laugh.
“Are you giving yourself a little pep talk over there, Mouse?” He chuckles before filling another glass for me. “Since you’re fine…” He grins, pushing it over the table to me.
I shrug and take the shot.
“Fucking perfect,” Saylor mutters, turning away from me with his arms crossed over his chest.
My attention drifts from our group to a couple of tables down where Nash stands, leaning against the table, sipping on his beer. He looks bitable as usual, wearing dark-washed jeans, a dark red knit sweater with bunched-up sleeves, and a dark red beanie, with his hair peeking out, framing his face. He’s grinning and seemingly flirting with a striking redhead standing before him.
A twinge of jealousy surges within me.
Get a grip, Sloan.
I already knew that he didn’t mean anything with all his flirting. It’s just who he is.
I’m nothing special to him.
North is sitting on the table Nash stands next to with some of my coworkers, sipping a beer. He’s dressed more casually, blending in with the crowd, unlike the usual suit that makes him stand out as the boss. I can only see his upper half, but he’s wearing a black hoodie.
Our gazes meet briefly, and I quickly look away.
Great, justgreat.
I’m lucky Hunter stayed home with Lio. Having three of the Joneses here is making the flutter in my chest worse enough.
Tally notices my struggle. “Hey, you all right?” she asks, putting her hand over mine on the table.
“Sure,” I mutter, shooting another glance at Nash, who is reaching out to touch the redhead on her upper arm.
Idecided I didn’t want to give him hissecond spin, so why am I feeling this way?
Tally grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. “Come on, forget about this idiot,” she urges, her voice filled with determination.
Mac stands too, and Rihanna’s “S&M” starts playing as Tally pulls me onto the makeshift dance floor. We begin to dance, and whether it’s the alcohol or just being here with friends, I let go. Tally is swaying more than dancing, but Mac pulls out his best robot moves, making us giggle. Saylor seems to have cooled off because he comes to dance beside me, smiling when I give him a grin.
“You know, I was as hot as you once too, before I became a whale,” Tally reminisces loudly, so I can hear her over the music as she strokes her belly.
“You’re even hotter now, baby,” Tim tells her as he comes up from behind her, his hands on her belly, nuzzling her neck.
She giggles and turns to him, putting her arms around his neck as they sway together, leaving me to dance with Mac and Saylor. But it doesn’t last long as another fisherman approaches Mac, and they start dancing closely. All of Mac’s playfulness is gone, and it’s pretty hot as he pulls the guy to him with force.
Get it, Mac.
I turn to Saylor, who is already focused on me. He dances up to me, getting close and locking his eyes on mine. His gaze is intense as he reaches out and lets his knuckles glide down myarms, sending tingles all over me and making my heart skip a beat.
I start to pant when he gets even closer and puts his hands on my hips, the tingles on the bare skin more intense than ever. I try to dance as if I’m dancing by myself, not drunk enough to forget that I’m the only one who can see him. I close my eyes, letting my body sway to the music, and revel in his touch, now wandering to my neck.
Suddenly, I feel warmth against my back and a very real hand on my belly.
That’s definitely not Saylor.
The tingles stop, and I glance down to see Nash’s tattooed forearm as he pulls me back against his chest, swaying to the music in sync with me.
My eyes come up to Saylor, his hurt expression like a pit of guilt in my stomach as he takes a few steps back. I frown at him, but he only presses his eyes shut and mutters, “Fuck,” then vanishes.
