“Your girl?” the bouncer asks David as I pass, his eyes sliding purposefully down my body.
“N—” I start to answer, but David shifts his stance to block me from the bouncer’s view, and suddenly I’m staring at the strained, broad muscles of David’s back through his fitted T-shirt. “Sorry, brother,” he murmurs nonchalantly, his tone completely at odds with the tension in his back. “She’s a nun. Married to God, you know.”
David sets his hand on the small of my back, and I try not to be so affected by his touch as he guides me around him and urges me inside.
The bass-line punches the floorboards beneath my feet the moment we’re through the heavy aluminum doors, and David’s comment and the bouncer are hastily forgotten as it reverberates in my bones.
The music fills the room like a tangible force, grabbing every single body to move to its will, and even those who don’t dance are under its control. They bob their heads or tap their feet as they wait for their drink orders, or stare down at their phones, waiting for a text. Always waiting. But those people—they’re missing out. They’re missing the entire point.
But not the people on the dance floor. The ones who don’t fight the music at all—who know how to surrender to it. No, they’re not missing anything…they are free.
My hips start swaying on their own as we walk the length of the long bar that runs along the south wall of the venue. The place is completely packed with chic, attractive people who don’t look all that much like college students to me, but then I probably look at least a few years older tonight, too.
David and the guys stop to talk to no fewer than three groups of girls, all of whom seem to know them well enough. Reeve, as usual, has very little to say, and communicates mostly with nods and grunts, more concerned with sipping his Guinness, which magically appeared in his hand moments after we got inside.
I could ask David how he knows so many people, but I already know the answer. A guy like him, especially surrounded with friends who look like his, is going to get attention no matter where he goes. How we got in so easily without waiting on line is another question, but I’m not going to look that gift horse in the mouth right now.
We finally arrive at the far end of the bar, and Reeve takes a seat on one of the only empty bar stools, making himself comfortable—well, as comfortable as he ever seems, anyway—like he plans to park there for a while. I’m practically jumping out of my skin, eager to get on the dance floor, and when the DJ mixes in the refrain from Jay-Z’s “99 Problems,” I burst into a grin.
David catches my gaze instantly—he’s the one who turned me on to hip-hop, after all—and his laughter at my excitement echoes right in my chest. I don’t even mind the smug, told ya so look on his face right now.
Steven orders a round of shots, and I down mine before David can say anything. But he just raises his eyebrows, and, without a word, tosses back his own. Of course, I don’t know why I expected anything else. His recent overprotective behavior must be throwing me off, because my brother is the one who would give me shit about drinking, not David.
Steven hands out another round, and I drink mine quickly, if only to get closer to the part when we actually get to dance.
By the time he orders a third round, I’m all out of patience.
I tap David on the bicep. “I want to dance,” I tell him, but it’s too loud, and I don’t want to shout over the music.
The way David’s mouth twitches makes me think he heard me anyway, either by reading my lips, or just by virtue of knowing me so freaking well. But he points to his ear like he didn’t hear at all, and then he’s moving closer—close enough to lean down to me—and it takes me a second to realize that he just means to hear me better. His chest comes precariously close to mine, and when his rough jaw grazes my cheek, I have to physically refrain from turning into his warmth.
God. David has always affected me in all the wrong ways. Or the right ones.
His breath caresses the sensitive skin of my neck in small, heated gusts, a sharp exhale stroking me so surely I’d swear it was his hand.
What did I want to say again?
“I…” Holy freaking shit, my brain is short-circuiting…or maybe it’s my subconscious trying to draw this moment out as long as possible.
“You…” David breathes against me and I almost sigh. Out loud.
I…what?
Christ, I need to pull it together. Logic…This is David—Sammy’s best friend, practically my family…My roommate. My fucking bed-mate.
My truncated internal pep-talk does its thing—miraculously—and my brain suddenly reboots.
“I want to dance,” I force out.
David pulls back enough to look down at me, his lips pulling into a smirk. “Thought you might.” He arches a sarcastic brow and I respond with a playful-but-impatient scowl.
David half-turns back to the bar to grab his third shot, and tosses it down. He gestures with the empty glass toward the busy dance floor, which is separated from the bar by a row of art-deco style columns. “Go for it, kid.”
Kid.
Steven slams his glass down on the bar, which is somehow loud—or sudden—enough to make me jump. He announces he’s going “hunting,” before unceremoniously making his way into the crowd.
I roll my eyes and grab the glass from David’s fingers to set it down for him. “Come with me,” I ask. I want to dance, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to just march out there on my own.
