Shaking off the tension of the confrontation, I weave through the bobbing bodies to the corner of the dance floor my friends claimed. Mia shoots me a questioning look, and I just shake my head.
Forget boy toys and would-be matches. I have a mission to carry out.
I bob and shimmy alongside the others, hoping no one expects me to be an expert dancer. Cadance breaks away from our cluster first, sidling over to one of our 15th-year classmates and teasing her gloved fingers down his arm. Mia decides to imitate her boldness and joins her apparent crush.
I decide I can abandon Stella and Madison now without anyone calling foul. Spotting Grady’s dark hair over the heads of the nearer dancers, I sway toward him.
He’s part of a shifting circle of eight or so figures, guys and girls, some easing away while others drift closer. I slip into a spot near him without making eye contact. One of his classmates—who joined in their indulgence at The Eclipse several hours ago—shoots a grin my way, but I don’t let my gaze linger on him either.
I’m Elodie Devine. I don’t beg for anyone’s attention.
Should I move more directly on Grady or try to lure him into courting me? Will that get me the information I need, or am I better off watching to see who else he interacts with and how?
As I debate the possibilities, a firm hand latches around my waist and tugs me away from Grady’s group.
“There you are, a stóirín. Let’s make this a night to remember, yeah?”
Salvatore spins both of us around with unrestrained laughter. A whiff of alcohol reaches my nose.
I detach myself from his grip, restraining a grimace. Is he actually drunk tonight?
The Salvatore I’ve known confessed to me that he never really partook. He brought bottles full of water so he could chug freely, splashed on a bit of liquor like it was aftershave to sell the story, and palmed any pills he feigned popping.
He wanted everyone around him to think he was even more uninhibited than usual, that he was so confident in his power he didn’t mind getting blitzed around them—didn’t care about the consequences of what anyone else might do to him or he to them. But he’d never really let himself get that vulnerable in company he didn’t trust.
And as far as I know, he never trusted anyone but me. The act was as much to keep his family off his back as the rest of us.
Is this Salvatore the same way? He did bring his own drink.
The flash of his eyes when he snags my elbow looks cunning enough to convince me, though he puts on a crooked smirk and makes a show of swaying on his feet afterward.
His voice stays jovial. “Aww, the princess doesn’t want to play? Come on. You know none of these stuffy pricks can give you a ride like I can.”
I try to take another step back, but he holds on tight. “I’m not interested in riding anyone, thanks.”
Salvatore steps closer and slides his other hand down my side from ribs to hip. Despite the leather glove, his touch paints heat over my skin.
He waggles his eyebrows. “You don’t want to spend your whole life only knowing what those limp-dick idiots can offer. Or maybe you’re afraid I’ll ruin whatever’s waiting for you?”
Through the skittering of my pulse, I keep my tone light but tart. “The only thing you seem likely to ruin is my night. How about you let go of me and find someone who’s interested?”
Salvatore prowls around me, trailing his fingers across my belly and back before reclaiming my elbow. “What a scaredy cat. I know, you’re worried you won’t live up to all the girls I’ve already had a great time with. I’m sure I can get you up to speed.”
A hitch of nausea cuts through the heady warmth of his nearness. Would my Salvatore have become such a man-whore if our match hadn’t sparked when it did?
It isn’t as if he was a saint, but he definitely wasn’t this much of a letch at seventeen.
One of Salvatore’s friends knocks into him as we pass him in the hall. He doesn’t seem to notice our clasped hands.
“Hey, man, gonna hit the bar with us tonight? There was lots of fresh meat last time.”
Salvatore’s fingers tighten around mine. He aims a look as sharp as his switchblade at the other guy. “I’m off the market, you bozo, in case you forgot.”
The friend’s gaze slides to me. He scoffs as if he finds it hard to believe Salvatore would settle and then hightails it into a classroom when Salvatore’s expression turns even fiercer.
We continue down the hall past other roaming schoolmates in silence. Then Salvatore tugs me into an alcove by an awards display case.
He runs his free hand through his hair, his head ducked self-consciously. “Does it bother you?”
