Bummer.
Wes slides right in, flashing me a sexy grin as he claims the spot Ryan just vacated at the deck railing beside me. “Hey, you made it,” he drawls.
“I did,” I reply, suddenly unable to keep the smile from my own face. “I was beginning to wonder if you were standing me up.”
“Never.” He licks his lips, gaze dropping to roam my form. “You look incredible.”
“Thanks.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk, a dimple sinking into his left cheek.“Though I’m not gonna lie, I was digging the schoolgirl look.”
“Thank you!” I sigh exasperatedly, throwing up my hands and almost knocking my plastic cup off the railing and into the lake below.Guess that punch is more potent than it tastes.“My roommate was just giving me shit about my plaid skirts earlier.”
“Who’s your roommate?”
“Richelle Colburn.”
A spark of recognition flares in his gray irises. “Ah, the ice queen herself,” he replies with a wink. “Lucky you.”
I don’t ask why he calls her that, choosing instead to file that tidbit of information away for later.
“Wanna dance?” he asks nonchalantly, tipping his head toward the open doors in invitation.
I cast a hesitant glance inside at the sea of bodies writhing to the music, then back to him, worrying my lower lip between my teeth.
Okay, so flirting is harmless, but dancing?Maybe not so much. If I was sober, I wouldn’t even entertain the thought, but the mystery punch is hitting hard right now and I’m suddenly finding it difficult to come up with reasons why I shouldn’t.
“C’mon,” he urges, the intoxicating scent of his cologne wafting toward me as he moves in a little closer. “How am I supposed to win you over with my dance moves if you don’t give me a chance to show them off?”
I snatch my cup off the railing and bring it to my lips, trying to hide my blush behind it. Draining the rest of my drink, I work to calm my frantic pulse as I swallow it down and lick the fruity residue from my lips.
“Okay, sure,” I finally agree. “Why not?”
Sober Ava would have a laundry list of reasons why not, but buzzed Ava is clearly a tramp.
He hits me with another disarming grin as he takes the empty cup from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. That brief touch already gives me the shivers, but then he tosses the cup into a nearby trash can and grabs onto my hand, resulting in full body chills.
Yeah, I’ve got a serious crush.
In the back of my mind, I know I should check myself right now. The last thing I should be doing is following him inside. But the feeling of my small hand engulfed in his large one has butterflies taking flight in my belly, drowning out all rationality as we step over the threshold into the boathouse. The crowd seems to part for Wes as he leads me into the fray, my cheeks flaming as co-eds gawk at the two of us together.
The first red flag I miss through my alcohol-induced haze.
Wes obviously has a lot of admirers, if the looks from the other people in the room are anything to go by, and I feel more than a little awkward on his arm. But I also feel…special. Like I’m lucky that out of all the pretty girls here tonight, he’s choosing to spend his time withme. Not that I’m devoid of self-confidence, but it’s a good kind of attention; the type I don’t mind basking in, however brief it may be.
He brings me to the center of the room and twirls me around, artfully looping our arms together so that his own wrap around me from behind. Pulling my back against the sculpted planes of his chest, he starts to move his body to the beat of the music. I can barely hear it over the loud thumping of my own pulse in my ears. Having Wes this close is turning my insides to mush, rapidly demolishing my defenses.
He holds me against him, guiding my movements in our dance. I’m acutely aware of the heat of his body behind me and his warm breath tickling my ear while we grind to the sultry beat of a Dua Lipa song, his hard, broad chest like a stone wall at my back–and that’s not the only thing that’s hard.There’s no denying the sizable bulge in the front of his jeans as he grinds it against my ass with intentional thrusts of his hips.
I drag my hands through my hair, throwing my head back against his shoulder as I get lost in the music and the boozy haze. His hands explore my hips, waist, and belly as we dance, his touch firm and commanding, guiding my body to move with his in perfect synchronicity. When they dip lower to skate across the hem of my short dress, it’s impossible to ignore the dull throb between my thighs. It only builds as we continue dancing together, song after song, until I’m grinding against him unabashedly and practically panting with need.
Wes must realize what he’s doing to me, because he leans down, lips tickling the shell of my ear as he asks, “Wanna go somewhere quieter?”
My heart races. I swear it’s the alcohol talking when I answer with a breathy, “Yes.”
CHAPTER 8
AVA
