All the lights have been dimmed, leaving us painted in the glow of neon light.
“God, Cillian, I love this song. It’s so good,” she murmurs, her hips swaying to the sultry beat as her eyes flutter shut and her arms lift above her head. I watch her for longer than I should, but I can’t take my eyes off her. No matter how much I know that Ishould.
I’m fucking enraptured seeing her this way. Carefree and uninhibited.
Her teeth capture that plush bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth, and somehow she ends up in front of me, her back molded to my front. Despite every bit of better judgment I possess, my hand finds the shallow dip of her waist, palm curving around it, holding her there, pulling her even tighter against me. With every subtle shift of her hips, her ass moves against me and I can feel my dick starting to harden in my pants. My fingers tighten on the soft flesh of her hips.
Rory St. James has me under some type of spell and she hasn’t a fucking clue. I don’t think I did either until recently.
My skin feels hot, my blood simmering into a slow, rolling boil in my veins at the feel of her against me. At the sweet smell of her bodywash. It makes me wonder if her skin would taste as sweet, and something tells me that it would be even better.
Thank fuck the song ends a beat later because it’s the excuse I needed to step back, putting space between us before we both do something we can’t come back from.
My gaze flits around the semidarkened room, making sure no one was watching us dancing. If someone on the team saw us like that… Shit, I don’t know what would happen. There’s got to be an unspoken rule about staying away from your coach’s daughter, especially when you’re in the position I’m in.
Rory whips to face me, her warm eyes glassy from the alcohol. “That was fun.”
I don’t entirely trust myself to speak, so I just nod, rolling my lips together as I force down a swallow.
Not that she’s in the least bit fazed at my inability to speak;she’s used to my selective conversation, so we walk side by side back to the table in silence. As I’m taking my seat, I watch her slip back onto the barstool, eyes pinned to the inflatable area where the mechanical bull is set up.
Cupping her hands around her mouth she yells, “Let’s go, Wrennnnnyyyy!”
She’s so bloody cute I want to kiss the fuck out of her.
And that thought is just as terrifying as losing my spot on the team is.
“Oh! Guess what? I forgot to tell you!” Her voice lifts a pitch in excitement.
“What?”
Lifting her hand between us, she turns her palm my way, wiggling her fingers. “Look.”
There’s a bit of black smudged ink scrawled messily across her palm.
“Did you get into a row with a permanent marker?”
Her head shakes as a laugh tumbles free from her lips. “Nope. This is a number. I got a number from aguy, Cillian!”
The weight of her words hits me unexpectedly, stirring up something foreign inside me.
“Bloody hell, way to go, St. James.” My response is short, so I tack on a small smile. “I knew that you could.” I’m not surprised it’s happened. This is exactly what we’ve been working toward.
Only I never gave much thought about what would happen outside the lessons. About what would happen once she no longer needed me. It means we won’t hang out anymore, eat dinner together, spend time in her apartment. Shit, I’m realizing how much I’d hate that.
If anything in the last several weeks, Rory’s become my only friend at Prescott. The only person I really spend time with outside of Aisling.
And I don’t want that to end.
I don’t want to no longer be needed by Rory because then that means I lose this.
Lose… her.
Holy fuck.
My head is a jumbled mess of shit, and the realization hits me with the same weight a tackle on the pitch would, nearly stealing my breath.
I think IlikeRory St. James.
