Nate catches my eye from across the dance floor. Next to him, Oliver and Mia are wrapped in an embrace they won’t be freeing themselves from anytime soon. Nate pushes his way through the crowd to get to me. Since we got here, he’s been busy with his friends, so this is the first time we’ve spoken again.
He holds out his hand.
“Can I have this dance, m’lady?” he asks in a corny British accent.
I can’t help giggling and wrap my arms around his neck, breathing in his scent. Fresh soap and cologne.
“You’re stunning,” he whispers into my neck, nuzzling into my hair, a hint of bourbon on his breath. “Do you know that?”
I embrace the moment, picking up where we left off at Oliver’s party and ignoring the judgmental glares. Nate stays oblivious to the daggers Lindsay shoots our way. He looks at me like I’m the only girl in the room, Strong hands on the small of my back pull me into his chest. The music slows, and we sway together. Disco lights glimmer against the sequins on my dress.
He strokes my cheek tenderly, sending a longing tremble through me like a gentle summer breeze skirting over my skin. He leans in, his parted lips pausing for a brief second before brushing against mine tentatively, as if he’s waiting for an invitation and checking this is okay. I kiss him back while he caresses my cheekbone, like it’s a delicate flower petal. This is the type of kiss everyone dreams about.
Behind us, moody huffs threaten to ruin the mood. I won’t let them. I’m too swept away, lost in his arms. His tonguesoftly probes my lips apart. I kiss him back with a new hunger, forgetting that we’re surrounded by the rest of the senior class.
Eventually, when the song ends, he pulls away breathlessly.
“Come on.” He weaves his fingers through mine. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I float across the dance floor after him as we leave the bustle behind.
Nate checks to make sure no chaperones are watching. They’re too busy having fun, and the single moms crowd around our geography teacher. He’s a single guy under fifty, who still has all his hair and a gut that doesn’t expand beyond the original holes that came in his belt, so he’s basically the most eligible bachelor in town.
“This way,” Nate says, tugging my hand to lead me down the unlit hall into the main building.
He breaks into a run, dragging me behind him. My laughter echoes around the emptiness.
“Through here,” he says, heading into the art room, which is on the opposite end of the building to the ball. “We can really be alone here.”
Moonlight streams through the windows. As soon as the door clicks closed, Nate’s hands are in my hair, sweeping me into another tsunami of a kiss.
“Fuck,” he groans, pushing me back against a desk. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”
His mouth is on mine again, ravenous and lustful, like I’m his oxygen. His fingers creep over my bodice and greedily grab a handful of my breast. The suddenness takes me off guard as he paws at me in a feverish frenzy that feels quite different to how it was on the dance floor. There’s a desperate urgency to his movements, something almost animalistic.
“You’re so hot,” he purrs, pulling up my skirts. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is having you alone like this.”
I catch his wrist as it reaches my knees.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Slow down.”
“Why wait?” he murmurs, pressing his erection into me. “You want this as much as I do, right?”
The liquor on his breath is suddenly all I can taste. He rolls up my skirt. Nate’s been lovely until this point, but this doesn’t feel right. It feels dirty. Sordid, almost.
I pull away.
“Nate,” I say. “I really like you, but I don’t want to do this here.”
“Shit,” he curses, stepping back. I expect him to apologize for taking things too far, but he pouts moodily like an entitled child. “I thought this is what you wanted. You can’t kiss a guy like that and send mixed messages.”
“Kissing doesn’t mean that I want to have sex with you in the art room,” I snap.
“Cocktease,” he mutters.
I shove his chest hard.
“If you want to get your dick wet that badly, I’m sure there’s plenty of girls at the ball who’d volunteer,” I say, crossing my arms. “You should leave.”
