Thirty minutes later, the heavy velvet curtain separating our VIP section from the main floor opens. The bottle-service girl steps aside, and a small group of massive men piles in, making the space feel really tight.
Aston is at the front, looking delicious in a dark gray henley, jeans, and, yep, cowboy boots. His jawline looks sharp in this light, and his hair is slightly messy, likely from the wind outside. Behind him are three of his teammates, who, of course, I know, including Brody Vaughn.
Aston’s eyes scan the table quickly and lock onto mine. A slow smirk spreads across his lips in the kind of way that makes my stomach do somersaults.
“Ladies,” Aston says, tipping his head, his deep voice cutting through the music in the club as he slides in to sit next to me.
He introduces his teammates, who immediately slide into the booth next to Cher and Devon, but Brody sits on the end, across from Ellis. Within minutes, the drinks are flowing, and the guys are ordering another round of premium tequila. And while his friends are throwing back shots, I notice Aston barely touches his. He keeps a single glass of reposado in his hand, taking slow sips. He might be out having fun, but he’s always in control, just like he was in college.
“Dance with me.” I lean into him as a heavy beat drops.
Aston doesn’t say a word. He just sets his glass down on the table and takes my hand in his, leading me out onto the crowded dance floor.
The center of Obsidian Court is a sea of moving bodies, but the minute Aston’s hands grip my waist, the crowd seems to melt into the blur of the colored lights. He pulls me flush against his chest, blocking out the rest of the room. I’m completely enveloped by his size, and my face rests just beneath his jaw.
“You look beautiful tonight, Carrington,” he says, voice gravelly in my ear, as we move together to the music.
My hips roll against his, and the electricity that’s been building between us for weeks is just about ready to explode.
“Thank you, Griffith.” I stand close to him, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath. “You look good yourself.”
“You flatter me, Honeybee.” He tilts his head back to look at me. “You know, you grinding against me in the middle of this crowded club makes me want to take you out of here,” he says and leans in again, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Patience,” I tease, and our eyes lock. The tension is so thickthat I have to clear my throat before I speak. “We’ve been on this dance floor for a while now. I, uh, need to go to the restroom. Be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says instantly, his hold on my waist tightening.
“Aston, it’s the ladies’ room. You can’t come in.”
“I know. I’ll wait in the hallway,” he says, already guiding me through the crowd toward the restrooms.
The hallway is dimly lit, lined with dark wallpaper. The line is four girls deep, all of them looking at themselves in the mirrors of their compacts or on their phones.
Aston stands next to me, his massive frame crowding the space, resting his shoulder against the wall while he looks at me.
“So …” I say, leaning into his side, my head tilting up to look at him. My tipsiness is setting in now, making me feel bold and curious. “When you’re not on the field or in high-class nightclubs, what do you like to do? Do you want to travel or anything like that?”
Aston lets out an amused laugh, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “Travel? Hmm. I’m not really sure. I’m a pretty simple guy. I wouldn’t mind seeing Europe, maybe a tour of Italy. But honestly, I’m just a country boy at heart. I miss home. Quiet nights, fresh and open air, no traffic, no cameras, just the big Texas sky.”
I watch him talk. The lift of his full lips, the rugged edge of his scruffy jaw, and the thick sweep of his dark lashes, contrasting with his blond hair, can drive a girl wild.
“You’re really pretty—you know that?” I mumble, my voice dripping with drunken sincerity.
Aston blinks, then barks out a laugh. “Pretty, huh? I’m a six-two block of muscle, Eva. I’m not sureprettyis the right word.”
“You know you’re hot,” I say, my fingers reaching up to trace the collar of his shirt. “You’re fucking gorgeous. It’s actually kind of annoying.”
His eyes darken, the humor vanishing, replaced by an intensity that makes me catch my breath. “You drunk, Carrington?”
“I mean … maybe a little,” I whisper right before his mouth crashes to mine.
Our kiss is deep, hot, and tastes like tequila. He pulls me against his chest, his tongue sliding against mine in a slow, agonizing rhythm that makes my knees go weak. My hands tangle in the hair at the back of his neck, and I completely forget where we are.
“Um, excuse me? Some of us actually have to pee.” An annoyed voice breaks us apart.
A girl in a sequined dress is staring at us, arms crossed, irritation written all over her face.
Aston pulls back slowly, an unbothered smirk on his face as he looks at her, then back down at me. His thumb swipes over my bottom lip in an attempt to fix my smeared gloss. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here.”
