He placed his hands on my hips. I let him. Then I slid my arm up around his neck—not because I wanted to be close to Jake, but because I could feelhiseyes on me.
Somewhere out there, he was watching.
Every sway of my body, every twist of my waist, every controlled roll of my hips—it wasn’t for the guy whose hands were on me.
It was for the man in the shadows.
And I hoped it drove him mad.
I flipped my hair and spun and kept moving. Nat cheered from the sidelines.
All the while, I searched every face. How was he so good at not being seen?
Every second his eyes stayed on me, the more it became a game to provoke him.
So I continued to dance. I wanted my body to tease him from afar.
When the guy I was dancing with slid his hands too low and tried to grip more than he was welcome to, I leaned up and whispered, “Keep your hands to yourself, hero. I’m not drunk enough for stupid.” Then I walked away without saying another word.
He didn’t follow.
I dropped onto the stool at our table and let my buzz settle. My heart was pounding. Not from the dancing. Fromhim. Whoever he was. Wherever he was.
Why wouldn’t he come out?
I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the table and dropping my chin onto my clasped hands. I was pouting, and I knew it. I focused on scanning the room for him. There was an attraction between us—thick, electric—humming like static in the air.
I wanted him to come out of the dark.
To stop hiding.
To prove he was man enough to approach the girl he’d so rudely blown off just a couple of days ago.
But he didn’t show himself.
And here I sat, alone. Well, not exactly alone. I was a blonde in a little black dress in a Midtown bar. Guys were noticing me. A handful stopped by the table. A couple were charming, one was painfully awkward, and one—Jesus—looked like he’d stepped right out of a whiskey ad. I smiled, nodded, and answered a few questions, but I didn’t give much in return. None of them washim.
The minutes ticked by slowly, one song playing after another. I polished off my drink and ordered another while Nat danced with her guy like she’d known him for weeks, not minutes—holding her arms loose around his neck, keeping her eyes locked on his mouth, and grinding her hips with confidence and intent. She wasn’t just having fun; she waschoosing. And I knew Nat—once she made up her mind, she was going to go home with him.
Jae and Andrey weren’t much better. They’d found their rhythm and were fully in performance mode, showing off in bursts of choreography that clearly didn’t come from bar-dancing experience. Their lines were clean, controlled—flashy without trying too hard. Andrey even dipped Jae halfway to the floor at one point, causing a little cheer to break out from the nearby crowd.
Eventually, a dark-haired guy with a strong jaw and a sexy smile slid onto the empty stool beside me and struck up an easy conversation. He had a warm laugh and smelled of clean soap. He was confident, relaxed, hot in that LA-casting-agent kind of way. I let him talk. Let myself smile. Let him think he was getting somewhere, even if I knew he wasn’t.
A few minutes later, when he asked me to dance, I accepted the offer—not because I wanted him, but because I neededthe movement, the distraction, and maybe just a little more attention.
We danced for two songs, holding each other close enough to draw a few glances from the bar but not behaving indecently enough to earn a warning from the bouncer. This wasn’t like dancing at The Sacrifice—it was fun. Light. Flirty. A low-stakes game I had full control of.
I was a little breathless when we returned to the table.
Nat dropped down beside me, cheeks flushed, fresh drink in hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, catching my breath. “Just needed a break.”
She grinned and gave my new friend a once-over. “Well, hello. You her bodyguard or just lucky?”
He chuckled. “Just admiring the view.”
I smiled politely, reaching for Nat’s drink and stealing a sip. “It’s awfully hot in here, don’t you think?”
