“Weren’t expecting that?”
“No,” she admits. A strobe light passes over us, and her cheeks illuminate. For a second, she looks angelic. Like a celestial being right here on Earth. With me. “Honestly, I thought you were going to be miserable. And, in turn, make me miserable.”
“Why is that?” I’m a little insulted. I like to have a good time.
“I don’t know?” She shrugs. “The prom? It’s not really a biker’s scene.”
I consider this. “I’m not really a biker yet. I haven’t been patched in.”
Liv offers me an absurd look. “You were basically born with Baum Squad tattooed across your torso.”
I burst out laughing and pull up my shirt. “Like this?”
Across my stomach in bold lettering reads “Baum Squad Mafia”.
“Exactly like that! When did you do that?” She touches the ink, and everything south of my navel gets a little too excited.
“When I turned eighteen. It was my dad’s birthday present.”
“Of course it was.” She shakes her head.
“You don’t like it?” I put my tatted-up torso away. We’re gaining some unwanted attention from the chaperones. I don’t really give a fuck about them, but Liv might. She still has to attend this school.
“I didn’t say that.” Liv bites her lip, and my dick twitches. I can’t believe how fucking attracted to her I am. It just struck me right out of the damn blue.
“Ready to get back to it?” I nod toward the dance floor. I know I’m ready to put my hands all over her again.
“Definitely.” Her smile is infectious.
We rejoin the jumping crowd to La Bouche’s “Be My Lover” and continue to dance the night away.
Toward the end, they crown the prom king and queen. Which, coincidentally, is the blonde who tried to rub up against me earlier. I still can’t put my finger on where I know her, but I’m pretty sure I do. It isn’t a mystery I’m gung-ho on solving, though.
Liv is the only thing I care about at the moment.
“In Da Club” by 50 Cent pumps through the speakers, and it’s a song I can definitely get down to. By now, it’s close to midnight. Our bodies are hot and tired, but our minds are wired.
Liv uses me as support to get through the song. She abandoned her shoes hours ago, and my coat jacket and vest are slung over a random chair. We’re still having a blast, and that’s all that matters.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, this is the last slow song of the night,” the DJ announces. “Make it count.”
Liv pretends to collapse as the tempo slows. Then she starts to walk off, assuming it’s time for a water break since that’s what we’ve done for each slow dance, but I have other ideas.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” I pull her back. “We’re not done dancing.” I trap her in my arms, tight against my body.
“Oh, we’re not?” She sways with me.
“Nope. I owe you a dance.”
“You’ve been dancing with me all night.”
“Not like this. We haven’t danced like this yet.” My heart is freaking hammering having her this close, moving this slow. It’s exhilarating. Almost as exciting as speeding down the freeway on my bike.
We shift back and forth slowly to Avril Lavigne’s “When You’re Gone,” not saying a word. And it’s just so comfortable. So easy.
“So, I lied before,” I start.
“You really were having a miserable time?” Liv replies like the smartass she is.
