“I am. And you will. Have a good night, Tucker,” I say, finally breathing right, now that we were separating. Unfortunately, we didn’t part quickly enough.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I hate that guy,” Nate says, walking a little past me and letting his gaze completely follow Tucker into the house. Nate finally turns to face me when Tucker’s totally out of sight. “So, what’d you end up pick—”
And now, I feel…hot.
“You like it?” I say, spinning around once slowly, but knowing fully well that it’s the four missing buttons on the front of the shirt that have him stammering for words. When he holds his hand up against his face and rubs his temple, his eyes almost bulging from his head, I start to heat up significantly.
“You are going to get a lot of attention tonight wearing that,” he says, a guilty smirk starting to spread across his lips.
“Well, I was kind of hoping one certain southern gentleman might notice me tonight,” I say, slinking up to him so the only places he has to look are my eyes and the expensive black bra.
“I think you’re pushing the limits of the word gentleman,” Nate says, not even hiding his arousal, pulling me in close to his body, dropping his helmet on the ground so he can almost touch me places he shouldn’t in public.
“That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” I tease, stepping up on the tips of my toes to kiss him lightly. “I hear I’m easy when I’m drunk,” I breathe against his lips. Nate just tilts his head to the side and looks at me for a few seconds, one eyebrow raised.
“You…ever been drunk?”
“Well, not technically,” I say, my seductress side starting to fade, foolishness moving into its place. “Okay, no. Not at all.” Hanging my head, I start to back away from him, but he’s quick to pull me close again.
“It’s okay. I’m actually glad that I’m here for this. It’s one of those firsts, you know? And frankly, I wouldn’t trust you getting tipsy in an outfit like that around a bunch of ass**les like the kind taking up at this party,” he says.
“But you’re at this party,” I tease.
“Yes. But Tucker the Fucker’s here, too.”
“Nate! Stop that,” I say, pushing him lightly. I’m slightly serious, but I’m also careful not to make Nate jealous, because I know how that feels—I had the same feelings when he was talking about Sadie, and I would never want to do that to him. “I’m sorry that’s how you had to meet him. He’s actually a nice guy.”
“Yeah, probably,” he says, grabbing my hand in his and pulling me up the front steps into the house. “But that doesn’t mean he has good intentions when he looks at you. Especially in that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m a man, too, Rowe. And my intentions? They’re nowhere near good right now. They’re not even in the same language as the word good.”
“Oh yeah? What are they, Mister Preeter?” The sexy coed once again taking over my brain and body, I take a large stride and step in front of his path, stopping him in a room full of people. Nate pushes his forehead to mine and walks us backward a few steps, his arm around my body, keeping me close.
“Come on. Let’s go get you drunk, and we’ll find out.”
Being with Nate made everything easier. I dared more, and every day I felt more and more like the person I was supposed to be—the person before everything was stolen from me. Months ago, I never would have imagined me sitting here at a table with a dozen drunken college kids, screaming out obscenities and daring the girl before me to drink more, but here I am.
When it’s my turn to play, Nate stands close, caging me in between his body and the table in front of me, his breath hot against my neck. He’s been this way all night—possessive. And I think if this were normal, I’d fight it a little. But I know he’s just making sure everyone’s clear whom I belong to. And I like belonging to him.
“Okay, here’s how it works. You take this ball,” he says, handing me a small orange Ping-Pong ball. “All you need to do is get it in that cup on the other end. Do that, and that guy down there will have to drink the beer.”
“Got it. I think I can do that. It’s what? Like, three yards away?” I hold the ball up and squint one eye, lining up my shot. “What happens if I miss?”
“He gets to toss to your cup. And if he makes his shot, you drink,” Nate says, his hands sliding to my hips until he lets go and steps back, giving me enough room to throw. “Come on, baby! You got this!”