“He probably still should,” Brighton huffs, fussing with his sleeves. He’d rolled them up at some point during the evening, and every feral woman in the vicinity is eyeing him like a piece of meat.
“You know, I think half of them would faint if you asked them to dance.” I look around at all of them staring at him while he watches Daisy and Auggie.
“What?” His brows pinch together, but he doesn’t look away.
“You’re fresh meat to these hyenas,” I say.
“Cougars,” he corrects. “You mean cougars.”
“So youhavenoticed.” I cross my arms, careful with my hand.
“The blonde in the neon blue tried to cop a feel by the punch bowl an hour ago.” His lips curl into an amused smile.
“Lannah?” I gag. “She runs in a swingers circle—and not a good one. Her husband spends more time at the doctor’s for his diseased junk than he does in their bedroom.”
Brighton shakes his head at me.
“Casey is clean,” I say. “But she sounds like her nose is constantly plugged.”
“Oh yeah?” He looks down at me. “What does that sound like?”
I pinch my nose and moan—just loud enough to make him panic that someone heard, and he squeezes my side to get me to stop. His fingers linger, but only for a second before he pulls away.
“You asked.” I shrug.
“How are you even allowed on school grounds?” he quips. “You’re worse than a thirteen-year-old boy,” he adds, his jaw clenching as the music slows down and Auggie’s hands mold to Daisy’s hips awkwardly.
“He’s the most polite kid in this school,” I tell him.
“Polite boys still think like pigs,” Brighton argues.
I snort, the sound leaving me before I can stop it.
“What?” He huffs.
“You pride yourself on manners,” I remind him. “So, on that fact, I can only make the assumption that you also think like a pig.”
“Maybe I do.” He’s quick with it. “Makes me qualified to be pissed off when little boys touch my daughter inappropriately.”
“He’s not even roaming.” I chuff and point to Auggie’s stiff hands on her waist. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t have grabbed my ass by now if that were us?”
Brighton’s head whips to me.
“I mean, if we were fourteen, awkwardly slow dancing at a school event,” I try to slow his racing thoughts, the heated ones written all over his usually composed face.
“You’re pushing buttons tonight, why?” he asks, and then lowers his voice. “Are you having fun?” For a second, I think I pushed too far—then a smile creeps onto his face.
“I am.” I nod. He doesn’t say anything further, but he steps out in front of me and extends his hands. “Don’t be silly.”
“Someone has to be a good role model for these animals.” He grinds his teeth together, and the muscle in his jaw flexes.
Is that the point you’re trying to make, Brighton Black?I stare at him, the lights dancing across his features and making him appear younger than he is just for a second. I let him pull me into the crowd of kids, a few of them recognize him from the day in the hall and whistle loudly, but he ignores them completely as he carefully wraps me up in the most respectful way he can.
“You know, this is the most I’ve slow-danced in my entire life,” I say to him as he angles us to keep an eye on Daisy.
“Now who's telling lies about their high school experience?” he jabs.
“Not all of us were born looking like a god, Brighton. You probably came out of the womb with a glow.” I roll my eyes.
