The slow rifts of guitars still the crowd.
Still Lucy.
Her lips are curved smugly. “Were you going to say my boobs look bigger?”
There’s no getting out of this one; she totally caught me checking out her tits, which I can barely see beneath her blousy top. “Maybe.”
“What if you were right?” The words fall out of her mouth before her lips clamp shut. “Please forget I said that.”
Yeah…not happening.
Lucy clears her throat. “So should we—”
“Dance? Sure.” Why the hell not? Everyone else is.
Neither of us smile, but she lets me take her beer bottle and set it on the bar, lead her to the edge of the ballroom floor where the concert crowd is gathered, couples dancing to little Scotty’s kickass garage band.
My hands catch skin when they slide around Lucy’s waist, accidentally skimming above the waistband of her jeans. I let my fingers stroke the skin of her ribcage before they behave, dragging back down to the swell of her denim-clad hips.
Tentatively, her hands run up the front of my black t-shirt; it’s the second time she’s touched me tonight, and her warm palms, with their pretty blue nails, are doing some seriously fucked up shit to my libido as they settle on my chest.
Her chin tips up so she can look in my eyes. “You realize you finished my sentence before, and I finished yours?”
“We did?”
“Yes. No one ever does that with me except my sister.”
I have nothing to add to that.
“Scott is great.” She breaks the silence, fingers toying with the cotton of my shirt. “Does he come around your house often?”
“Yeah, just about every week. He plays ball, and he’s mildly obsessed with our pitcher, Rowdy Wade.”
“Rowdy, Dash—do you all have nicknames?”
“We call some guys by their last names.”
“And you get yours because you’re fast?” Affirmative. “But you’re a catcher…how does that work?”
Does she not know anything about baseball?
“Everyone on the team has a turn at bat, and when my bat connects with the ball, I run like hell.”
The song Scotty’s band plays is actually really fucking haunting. Beautiful.
Just like Lucy.
My arms move from her hips to her waist, pulling her in so we’re flush, her palms sliding down from my pecs, smoothing themselves across my shoulders, brushing imaginary lint away. I want to kiss her and we both fucking know it; I’ve been dying to put my mouth on that dimple of hers.
I home in on it.
“Where did this suddenly come from?” I tease, bringing my hand up to float my thumb over the tiny indent, back and forth, unintentionally brushing the satiny flesh of her bottom lip. “I swear this wasn’t here last time.”
“I-I don’t think we should do this,” she protests against my finger, lids fluttering shut when my thumb caresses her cheek. “Maybe we should go back to the bar and finish our beer.”
“Hey, it’s all right.” My brows rise. “We’re just dancing.”
My fingers trace her jaw, slipping to the back of her neck, raking through her soft hair. Her eyes meet mine, a thousand words I know she wants to say shining up at me, but it’s nothing I’ll hear out loud. This girl has secrets she doesn’t want me finding out, and I want to know what they are.
I lower my head, intending to—
“I don’t think you should kiss me.”
I pull back, eyebrows drawn together, perplexed. “Why?”
“Because I want you to,” the whisper slides out, a confession.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know,” she moans miserably.
“You want to kiss me, but you don’t—got it.” I’m tenderly stroking her skin with the palm of my hand, the calloused pads learning the contours of her face. “You don’t care if I do this in the meantime, do you? Until you change your mind?”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
Lowering my face to the crook of her neck, I trail my nose up the pillar of sweet skin, letting my mouth tag along for the ride. My wet tongue meets her flesh and I want to gently suck, but don’t. I nip instead. “Is this okay? No kissing on the lips,” I whisper into her ear. “Just like in Pretty Woman.”
“F-F…” she stutters. “Fine. Sure, whatever. Just not on the lips.”
What a little weirdo.
My laughing mouth finds the pulse in the slim column of her neck, and I’m satisfied when she tilts her head to one side, hair falling like a waterfall over her shoulder, giving me all the access I want and need.
Grasping her hand, my fingers flutter lightly along the length of her arm before I raise it, kiss the inside of her wrist, the pale skin a stark contrast to my own.
Dragging my mouth along the smooth flesh of her forearm, up and down the inside of her elbow. Lucy holds perfectly still.
“¿Todavía no quieres que te bese en los labios?” Still don’t want me to kiss your lips?
One jerky shake of her head.
“No?”
Another shake. No.
“Jesus, Luce, you’re killing me here,” I murmur against her mouth, our lips an inch apart, so close our breaths mingle. I wish our tongues were, too.
“It’s killing me too. I’m sorry.”
That’s the second time she’s apologized, so I kiss the tip of her nose, leaning in to whisper, “Don’t be.”
“God Dash, don’t do that,” she whispers back, stroking the back of my head, wrapping my black hair around her finger.
Chest heaving, her hands unhurriedly flutter up and down the bulk of my biceps, breasts pressed against my chest as she moves closer.
This non-kissing, sexual tension-filled bullshit is better than any fucking kiss I’ve ever had on the mouth, that’s for damn sure. It’s giving me a raging boner, body hard as a rock when she arches her back.
“Don’t do what?” My murmured question makes her shiver. Goose bumps form across her skin.
“Don’t be so…” Lucy deliberates, choosing her words.
“Irresistible?”
“Sure, we’ll go with that.”
We take the moment to stare at each other, and I swear to fucking God, it’s like we’re seeing each other for the first damn time. My hands embrace her jawline as her fingers clench my wrists.
“Lucy.”
The air between is pulled taut, intensely so.
Buzzing.
Sizzling.
“Dash, please don’t.” I can’t hear her words, but I can see them, and it’s enough to stop myself from doing something really fucking dumb, like kissing her senseless, which is taking some superhero-level self-restraint on my part.
She moves first, burying her head in my chest as the music comes to an end, the crowd around us going wild, chanting and cheering for the band, for Scotty, the kid who practices in his parents’ garage and tries to hang out with guys too old for him.
“We should go,” comes her muffled mumble. “I need to go.”
Need to go.
We pull apart, reluctantly. I could eat her up—and out—all fucking night long.
Instead, I release her.
“All right. Let’s get you home.”
Chapter Five
Amelia
Dzzt. Dzzt.
Dzzt.
It’s barely six thirty in the morning when my phone begins buzzing, vibrating against my bedside table, an entire hour before I have to be up to get to my study group.
I reach for it, finger blindly searching for the end button but accidentally hitting accept. Dammit all, what’s my sister doing calling so freaking early?
The last time she woke me at this hour was two Christmases ago when she and our brother, Dexter, were up at the butt-crack of dawn—like children—so they could open their presents.
My siblings, bless their hearts, are early risers.
I, however, am not.
“Luce?” My voice is raspy, sounding eerily similar to someone gasping for a last breath. “Is everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay. Are you still in bed?” It’s an accusing tone, one I simply don’t have the patience for at this hour of the damn day.