“Penny for your thoughts?” he says, one hand resting on my thigh, the other grabbing his beer.
I offer a tight smile. “Just a little tired. Who knew ice skating would be so exhausting?” Please don’t push the scar subject.
“Ice skating and falling, you mean,” he quips playfully.
Crisis averted.
Pursing my lips, I set my glass back down, finally feeling as if I can breathe again.
Until I feel the backs of his knuckles graze my cheek, carefully tucking my hair behind my ear. I jerk my head to look at him. Deep blue eyes gaze back at me, soft and . . . hopeful? I’ve never seen that look on his face before, and it terrifies the living shit out of me.
His fingers linger on my jawline, thumb moving to my chin and stroking with feather light touches. His head ducks to catch my gaze, now wide-eyed. My first instinct is to jolt off the couch and make a beeline for the door. However, my body is rooted in its position, unwilling to move away, challenging my mind that’s screaming to run.
“We all have our stories,” he says, his fingers barely clasping my nape while he inches his face closer to mine. “One day, I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me yours.”
My eyes flutter shut, and against my better judgment, I lean into him, preparing myself for the feel of his lips on mine. But they snap back open when he presses his lips to my forehead and moves away.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his cell phone, looking at me with an expression that is all Zack. “Now, you’ve gotta be as hungry as I am. No chicken and brown rice today. You deserve a pizza.” He tosses the remote into my lap. “Load up a movie and you’ll be good as new for tomorrow. Christos will be none the wiser to your busted knees.” Following that with a wink, he moves the phone to his ear and places an order for enough food to feed a house full of people.
He didn’t kiss me. And rather than being relieved . . . I’m disappointed.
I can practically hear the ice cracking beneath my feet.
Fuck.
THE APARTMENT IS A SEA of beanies, flannel shirts, denim, and all things nineties. You can’t step into a single room without bumping into a Christina Aguilera, complete with bare midriff and a denim skirt so skimpy that a light breeze would bare all. Including Christie, who’s been eying me like a predator all night, in her strappy pink bikini top and a g-string pulled up to her hips above her low-riding jeans.
A couple of months ago, I would have taken advantage of the offer. Christie would have been trailing me to my room, maybe even with a Britney in tow. But now, my eyes anxiously scan the room for a black camisole, jeans, and Converse. Though she knows it’s a themed party, conformation of any kind isn’t Dahlia’s thing. The woman couldn’t hide who she is to save her damn life. Everything about her is uniquely Dahlia—from her steel-blue gaze to the soles of her worn shoes, my girl puts up no false pretense.
My girl? Now there’s a bold, yet not entirely unwelcome thought. No doubt I want her. It simply goes without question. Whether or not she wants me too? Well, there’s the dilemma. Dahlia’s resolve is as powerful as her punches. Once in a while the cracks will show and her eyes will linger on me a moment too long, or our sides will brush and she won’t jerk away, or I’ll touch the small of her back while we’re walking to class and I could swear she leans into my hand the barest amount. Wishful thinking? Perhaps, but I’m willing to snatch up any crumbs she’ll leave.
“Man, who kicked your puppy?” Keith shouts, blocking my view of the door and pissing me off.
In true Keith style, he went all out. Baggy overalls with one of the clips hanging loose, Timberlands, and a hideous shirt with patterns that make my eyes want to cross.
Cramming a handful of chips into his mouth, he smacks the side of my arm. “I’m bagging at least two Britneys and maybe even a Beyoncé tonight.”
“Knock yourself out.” Rolling my eyes, I take a swig of my beer that’s been neglected since I cracked it open, grimacing at the piss-warm liquid. I’ve been staring at the fucking door for at least twenty minutes. Maybe she couldn’t be bothered to come.
He clicks his tongue. “Z, the stairs would’ve caught fire from you heading up there so fast a few months ago. What the fuck is up with you lately? You’ve been as useful as a fucking bonfire in a hurricane.”
“Shouldn’t you be looking for a Spice Girl to bang?” I can’t even pretend that my nerves aren’t getting the better of me. For being the ultimate bullshitter, Keith has the uncanny ability to see right through anyone else’s.
“She won’t come, dude. That’s one little bun who ain’t feeling your dog,” he says, bobbing his head to “One Week” by Barenaked Ladies. Fucker isn’t exactly discreet.
Just as I’m about to wrap that loose strap around his fucking neck, a voice cuts in from behind us. “Who won’t come?”
No amount of noise could keep me from hearing that husky voice.
Keith breaks into a grin. A wider one spreads across my face when I see her.
“Well, speak of the bun!” Keith shouts, hooking an arm around her neck. Frowning slightly, he gives Dahlia a once-over. Just as I predicted, she’s wearing a black strappy top and jeans. “It’s a theme party, baby Dahl, didn’t Z-man tell you?”
The side of her pink lips tilts up as she points at the black plastic choker on her neck. More of an effort than I figured she’d put in.
Throwing his head back in a laugh, he pulls her closer and smacks a loud kiss on the side of her temple. My grip on the bottle neck tightens. For a second, I have to remind myself that it’s Keith. He can be a shithead, but coming on to a girl one of us is clearly interested in isn’t his style. Not that I’ve ever voiced my interest aloud. Don’t really think I need to at this point.
He cranes his head back as a redhead saunters behind them. Clearing his throat, he unwinds his arm from around Dahlia and pops his collar. “Well, what do you know? Looks like I am bagging a Spice Girl tonight.”
He trails his next conquest while Dahlia’s eyes brighten when we make eye contact. The same lopsided smirk stays on her face. I rise up off my stool and stand in front of her.
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “Thought you were going to stand me up, Anastas.” My tone is flippant, though knowing that she came has my chest relaxing and air passing through my lungs again.
“Sorry, we had scheduling issues with classes tomorrow. I would have texted, but my phone battery was on its last leg.”
I smirk. “I think you just like watching me squirm.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Pretty certain you do a fair amount of that in class.”
Chuckling, I shake my head then let out a sigh. “Look at you being social. Dahlia Anastas at a party. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Stranger things have happened,” she says, rolling her eyes.
Yeah, they sure as hell have . . .
“Genie in a Bottle” sounds through the speakers and every wannabe Christina in the room squeals with delight as they sway and swerve against the guys they’re dancing with.
Eying her, I motion toward the living room that’s been turned into a makeshift dance floor. “Well, I’m taking full of advantage of your generous nature. Dance with me.”
Before she can refuse, I clasp her hand and lead her toward the mass of grinding bodies. Nearly colliding into her when I turn, I steady her with a hand around her waist, inching my body closer to hers. She goes rigid, her jaw tightening. Not out of anger—that look I know all too well. No, she’s nervous.
I offer her a reassuring smile, carefully moving my body to the rhythm. “It’s just me.”
Sucking in a breath, she steps into me and softly sways her shoulders, but her waist and legs are stiff. I grin and she laughs, her body loosening beneath my hand as I move the other to her hip.
“If this is what was playing in the nineties, I’m glad I’m not old enough to remember it,” she shouts over the music.
I lean into her so she’ll hear me without shouting. �
�Most of the people here probably weren’t even born in the nineties. Apparently, Keith’s mom was all about the era, so he’s grown up with it.”
Her hips begin a slight undulation, almost grazing my jeans as she grows more relaxed. She purses her lips. “I don’t think Keith has ever really grown up. Do you?”
I shrug. “Keith is Keith. He can be a jackass, but he’s a good guy. Always has my back when I need him, you know?”
Her eyes soften. “I know. I’m just saying he isn’t exactly the poster boy for maturity.”
Feeling bolder and more confident that she won’t run off, I pull her closer, closing all but an inch between us. “You’re definitely not wrong.”
With every shift and slight tilt of our hips, our bodies make full contact. Dahlia’s lithe figure against mine outside of the studio has my blood rushing in my ears and my breath becoming shallow. If I’m not careful, my dick’ll want in on this dance. My abs tighten. Shit, maybe dancing with her was a bad idea.
Fuck, think of something else, man. Keith in those overalls. Dave’s hairy bare ass in the locker room. Feet. Oh hell, even Dahlia’s feet are sexy as hell. Dammit! That’s not helping.
Sensing my discomfort, her mouth tightens and she pulls away. Sirens flash in my mind. I don’t want her to leave. She just got here and I spent the entire day hoping she would come. Because I knew if she did show, it would be for one reason only—because I’d asked her to. For me. That has to fucking mean something.
She looks at me, and I sense the barest amount of panic in her blue eyes before she scans the room. Is she looking for an escape route?
“I’m not very good at this,” she claims. As if her dancing skills have anything to do with my wanting her here.
I laugh, but I hear my nerves within it. “You’re fine, babe. Just pretend we’re training in the studio.”
Do anything, but don’t leave please, is what I really want to tell her.
“You mean with me twisting your arm behind your back and you slamming on the mat for mercy?” she quips.
The playful jab gives me some small hope that maybe she’s not going to run. In fact, it emboldens me.
“Well, if that’s how you want to play it,” I say before twisting her around with her back flush against my front. Our clasped hands rest on her soft belly. “Looks like I’m winning this round.”
She leans her head back onto my shoulder, arching her neck to look at me. “Don’t get used to it, Graves.”
The song ends and another starts. “Feel It” by Jacquees. Ah, Keith’s ultimate formula for music. Fun and fast when people are arriving, then as the night goes on, a stream of raunchier songs plays. “Gotta establish the mood, man. You ever see anyone get turned on after listening to ‘Gangnam Style? ’” he said once.
Knowing Keith, I wouldn’t put it past him to have that playing while he’s balls deep in a chick. The man’s need to get laid rivals mine by a ton.
“Okay, this song is definitely not from the nineties,” Dahlia says, the tip of her nose just barely grazing my chin.
“Don’t blame me, babe, I didn’t put together the playlist.”
Beneath our interlocked hands, my other hand is splayed out against her abdomen. My fingers knead gently, feeling the ridges of toned muscle underneath. Her free hand comes to rest on mine, but she doesn’t pull away. There’s not an inch of space between us, and our bodies are in total unison while we flow with the music. Our eyes lock and become hooded the longer we stare at each other, the energy between us so intense we could light up the entire fucking neighborhood.
My eyes shift from her eyes to her lips. God, I wanted to kiss her so badly after ice skating a couple of weeks ago, but it didn’t feel right then. She was tense, something heavy weighing her down. But in this moment, she’s totally relaxed, moving with ease against me. As I stare into her eyes, I notice her pupils expanding. With the atmosphere of the sultry beat along with the rising heat from the writhing bodies around us, it’s one hell of a potent mix. Maybe Keith was on to something. As I tilt my head down, our eyes lock for a brief moment, as if in affirmation before I seal my lips over hers. Her hands grip mine tighter, and her shoulders stiffen for a second before they soften and she breathes into me. Fuck, she tastes good.
My mouth presses more firmly onto hers, clinging to the softness of her lower lip. My tongue runs carefully along that tiny divot I’ve been obsessing over for months before I trace the seam of her lips, pleading with her to open for me. To my utter delight, her lips part and the tips of our tongues meet. A shy touch, but one that has my head swimming and blood rushing in my ears.
I move one of my hands to cup the nape of her neck, her back still against me as I deepen the kiss, tasting the cinnamon mints she favors and relishing the feel of her all but melting into me.
Her breath hitches, but she returns my fervor, and the gentle kiss turns into a slow, deep exploration of each other’s mouths. Stick a fucking fork in me, I’m done. Either that or I’ve died and gone to fucking heaven. I’ve never been more turned on by a kiss in my life.
But as Dahlia is about to turn to face me, a hard shoulder collides with my back. Both of us jerk forward, breaking the seal of our joined lips. Cold hazel eyes stare at us, a small smirk tugging at her lips. Fucking Christie.
“Sorry,” she says coyly, her arms wrapped around Aaron’s neck.
The hell she is, but I don’t have time to tell her as much as Dahlia’s body goes rigid in my arms.
I’m silently begging her to come back to me as Dahlia turns with a look of pure shock in her eyes. Fuck, the moment has been completely shattered by Christie’s ‘accidental’ interruption. Dahlia untangles our fingers despite mine desperately clinging to hers. She straightens her spine, shoulders pulling back as panic sets in her gaze.
“I have to go. Early class with a beginner group tomorrow.” She turns and pushes her way out of the crowd before she even finishes her statement.
God fucking dammit. There’s no getting her to come back now. Dragging a hand through my hair, I move over to the kitchen island and pour a shot of whatever liquor I grab first. When I slam it down, ignoring the burning sensation in my throat, my mind is flooded with images of our kiss. The feel and taste of her. How she all but melted in my arms.
I’ve had the appetizer, but now I want the full meal.
PROFESSOR CORMAC BABBLES INCESSANTLY ABOUT the social and psychological aspects of crime. Not that I’ve bothered to listen to a word he’s said. Nope, my attention is focused on the searing heat of Zack’s gaze at my back.
I debated switching seats two weeks ago—the night after the party. Truth be told, I would have rather not shown up to class at all, but that wouldn’t serve any sensible purpose. That, and Christos would give me the verbal lashing of a lifetime. About ninety percent of it in Greek.
My second plan of action was moving to a seat clear across the auditorium; it wouldn’t exactly be a sanctuary, but the closer in proximity we are, the harder he is to ignore. Before I could even shift my eyes to a spare seat though, I heard the curious whispers. If I moved, the whispers would form into rumors, and that shit would spread like wildfire.
Damn near everyone has seen Zack and me together at some point, and I know at least half of the people in this room were at that party. And people keep tabs on Zack the way the entertainment channels track the Kardashians. His hair is a millimeter shorter than usual and everyone’s buzzing. Okay, maybe that’s being a little dramatic, but when you’re seen with him and the rest of the team . . . well, let’s just say you’re going to see your face on the proverbial tabloids the next day.
God, that kiss. My lips still hold the memory of his mouth enveloping mine. Confident yet not commanding. Patient yet eager. And thank hell I’m sitting down, because I can already feel the butterflies taking flight in my lower belly. It was better than I’d imagined, and yes, I can’t deny that I’d envisioned that very thing numerous times. Countless times.
What I wasn’t prepa
red for was the feeling of something igniting deep within my chest. The very same feeling I’d get during the rare occasions my mother was sober. When she’d show up with dinner rather than a small plastic bag in one hand and a needle in the other.
The night Christos found me and when he took me in when I realized my mother was never coming back, I’d felt safe. And I’d felt that again with Zack. As if his arms could shield me from the rest of the world.
A little something I’ve learned about safety? It’s all smoke and mirrors. An elusive bitch who, after declaring herself yours, will forsake you.
Especially when people are involved. They live to self-serve, and when they’ve worn out whatever or whomever they’re using, it’s discarded and forgotten. Abandoned.
Some people would probably think I’m ungrateful, since I have a better life than most because of Christos. Believe me, I know how lucky I am, and not a single night goes by when I don’t count my blessings. But what if it isn’t just luck? Or worse, what if it is and, like an hourglass, it’s slowly running out, grain by tiny grain until there’s nothing left?
Zack is destined for his own greatness, and with me being me, a relationship with him would never last. We may be in the same place momentarily, but our futures are worlds apart.
I’ve never even been in a full-on relationship before. I’ve had some flings here and there, but never anything beyond a temporary feeling of euphoria to numb myself. I realize the irony of that, which is why I haven’t partaken in anything, save the kiss with Zack, in almost two years. I’m no stranger to casual sex, but if things physically progressed between Zack and me, my heart and soul would follow suit. When the vast differences between us finally dawn on him, he’ll destroy me and there’d be no going back.
The sound of rustling papers and mindless chatter snaps me back into the present. Students are rising from their seats, Cormac giving his usual “see you next week” before sinking into his worn leather chair. I’m thankful he didn’t decide to call on me today.
Sweet Insanity (Sweet Series Book 1) Page 10