“H-hey,” she managed.
His smile was infectious, and though she smiled back, it wasn’t completely enough for her to tear her gaze away from his body. David in sweatpants had been hot. The David before her was … she couldn’t even find words for it. Her lower half tingled while she mentally restrained herself from stripping him and doing him right there while her friend—and non-friend—watched.
His button-up shirt should’ve been lame, but it framed his body nicely and he’d rolled up the sleeves so they showed off his arms. Her gaze drifted lower, and she almost drooled at the sight of his dark-wash jeans that were just tight enough to emphasize his strong thighs and package. Shayler gulped.
“Hi.” He laughed. “Are you ready?”
“Um, I…” She shook her head. “Uh…”
“Aw, are you nervous for your date?” Sarah asked.
Shayler whipped around. “Shut. Up. Sarah.” She faced David. “I’m ready.”
She snatched her clutch off the counter and followed him to the parking lot. His silver Prius was parked beside her Mazda, and she smiled at the thought of them driving around in the dorkiest car ever made. Which was exactly what she told David.
“Come on. It’s the coolest,” he said, opening her door and waiting for her to take a seat.
“Lamest.”
“Sorry I don’t drive a truck like Kyle that’s slowly killing the earth.”
“Oh God, I’m thankful you don’t do anything like Kyle.”
David glanced at her and grinned before driving out of her complex. She wanted to say more, to talk about something, but she couldn’t. Probably because her tongue was on the floor of her apartment, somewhere between her bedroom and the front door.
“So where are we heading?” he asked a little later.
“I was thinking Club Social.”
“Club Social? Seriously?” David complained as he drove at least ten miles under the speed limit.
Shayler shifted in her seat, wishing he’d move his hand from the armrest and put it on her bare thigh. Mainly because she was freezing and had not nearly worn enough to be warm in February, but also because she was starting to crave his touch.
“It’s where I always go.”
“And that makes it good?” He peeked at her, and she willed her heart beat to calm the fuck down before she passed out and ruined their night.
“Didn’t you tell me last week that you root for the Patriots because your family’s from there?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, it’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Am not.”
“I like the Patriots because it’s what my family does, and I grew up doing it.”
“And I go to Club Social because it’s what my friends do, and I’ve been doing it since I got to school. Besides, it’s busy and that means it’s cool. It means everyone goes there.”
“Why does that matter?”
Shayler opened her mouth to argue some more, but realized he had a point. “I don’t know.”
“No dancing though?” he asked as they pulled into the wide dirt lot next door.
“Not unless you get so drunk you want to.”
“Doubt it.”
“We’ll see.”
Shayler unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. He raced to her side, presumably to help her out. She was about to tell him she was pretty capable of opening a door herself when their gazes met and her words got lost in her brain.
She shut the door numbly, the sound making her jump. Walking beside him, she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Did she have a defect? She’d never had a problem keeping calm around guys before. The wind picked up, and she shivered.
David pulled her close, using his hands to warm up her thinly covered arms. Shayler wished she’d picked the crop top so she could’ve felt him on her skin, but she wasn’t going to complain as is. It was almost exactly like the daydream she’d had, but somehow better.
“It’s cold out. Why are you wearing a tiny dress?”
“It’s not tiny. It has long sleeves.”
“It doesn’t even reach your knees.”
Shayler tilted her head, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress that had touched below her mid-thigh. “It’s black, a color that’s supposed to generate heat.”
David glanced down at her. “If you’re in the sun.”
She shrugged her shoulders, but his hands remained. “Sorry I didn’t meet your expectations.”
David stopped walking, holding her back. “You look beautiful.”
“You have to say that now.”
“I always think you look beautiful, Shayler.”
His words hit her square in the chest, reminding her of the time she’d been the last player in a game of dodgeball in third grade and Becky Rivers had shoved the red rubber ball right into her left boob. Shayler forgot what breathing was, what her name was, and everything else that didn’t pertain to the man beside her.
“Let’s go. The faster we get inside, the faster we can get you warmed up.”
Shayler tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can’t walk faster. Heels.” But it was a lie that only made her feel pathetic. Shayler had mastered jogging in heels when she’d been six years old and had snuck a pair of her mother’s into her bedroom.
David’s grip tightened as if he hoped to steady her, and they kept their pace until they got to the back of the line at the warehouse. Club Social was blaring music, and she could hear the melodies faintly as they drifted through the walls. The line was longer than usual, and the girls in front of her were huddling together and breathing on their hands for warmth.
She figured she should settle in for the next hour or so as they waited and leaned against David, the top of her head hitting the middle of his chest. He didn’t push her away, didn’t object, and didn’t move his arms. Shayler celebrated by snuggling in deeper into his tall frame.
He sighed and she felt him brace himself against the wall. “Does it always take this long to get inside?”
“Sometimes. One time, my friends and I had to wait two hours.”
“Why not leave and go somewhere else?”
“It’s fun.”
“And all of your friends think so, too?”
They’d talked about her friends before, during their study sessions and a little after one of their classes, but Shayler liked that his questions never sounded forced. No matter how many questions he asked, it genuinely sounded like he was interested and not just waiting for her to take off her bra and get to work.
“Most of my friends. Except Rebecca.”
“Your best friend? And she doesn’t like clubbing?”
“Yeah, we don’t have a ton of common interests.”
“How do you stay best friends then?”
“I guess because, at this point, we’re more like … sisters. We don’t need to both be into clubbing or reading because we’re more connected than that.”
“Huh.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked.
“Do you have any weird best friends?”
“I have a lot of friends here, but most of my best friends are still back home.”
“Why didn’t they go to school with you?”
“Money issues. Bad grades. This is actually a pretty tough school to get into. My friend, Cam, he wanted to come here, but he totally botched his essay. Wrote about the time he convinced our high school to protest one of our old, shitty teachers for making us write an essay about why separate but equal was a fair trade off.”
Shayler spun to face him, and he circled his arms around her. “How’d he do that?”
“Got everyone to skip Hudgins’s classes for the rest of the quarter until the teachers reevaluated him.”
“He sounds awesome.”
“He is, but colleges don’t loo
k too nicely on going against authority.”
“Is that why you want to be a professor?”
“Huh?”
“You said one time that you wanted to be a professor because you had a terrible teacher and wanted to do it differently. To help people.”
David smiled. “You have a good memory.”
Shayler flushed as some muscular guy approached them. He clapped his hand on David’s back.
“Hey, David. Nice to see ya man.”
They exchanged the typical Man Handshake, and David grinned. “Clay! How’re you?”
Clay returned David’s smile, and it clashed with the rest of him. With his black shirt, sleeve of tattoos, and bulky build, he didn’t look like someone who smiled a lot—or like someone David would know. But fuck if he didn’t look a little familiar to her. She just hoped she hadn’t slept with him and forgotten.
“I’m okay, getting ready for my shift.”
“You work here?”
“Yeah, Dad wanted me to take on a second one so I could prove myself.” He raised his brows quickly, and something significant passed between the two of them.
“Oh. Well, Shayler says it’s busy, so that’s good, right? For tips and shit?”
Shayler blinked, once at hearing her name and another at hearing David drop a curse word like he was as hard as the man in front of her. She hated how hot it made her. How many times had David rejected her? And yet she was starting to not only want him, but need him.
“Sorry, I’m Clay,” the black-haired man introduced, extending a hand.
There was no longer a smile on his face, but a blank expression of apathy. Then she remembered. He was the bartender from earlier this semester, the one that had rejected her without so much as a second glance.
“Shayler,” she said, his hand entirely covering hers and then some.
Clay pointed between them. “Are you guys…?”
“Oh, uh”—David looked down at her— “we’re just friends.”
“Sure. Well, duty calls.”
“Good luck, man.”
Clay paused mid-step and gestured for them to follow. “It’s way too cold to leave you out here on your asses. Come on.”
David glanced at the line in front of them. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ve done more for people I like less.” He led them to the back door. “Just don’t go asking for free booze,” he said, his crooked smile almost lighting up his golden eyes as he opened the door.
Shayler thanked him quickly and trailed behind David as they separated from Clay. She watched his hulking body stalk to the bar before turning her attention back to David. He picked out one of the round booths that was as far from the DJ as he could’ve possibly gotten and slid in. Shayler sat beside him.
“He’s a friend?” she asked.
“Clay? Yeah. We had a couple classes together a few years back.”
“Now he works at a bar?”
“He was on the pre-med track for a while, but his dad owns a bar kinda near where I live. He plans on retiring soon so Clay can take over.”
“Hmmm.”
“What? Why are you making that face?”
Shayler undid a curl. “I’m not making a face.”
“Yes, you are.”
She shifted in her seat. “Remember the second time we met, when I was puking at Skeeter’s?”
“And ranting about sex. Yes, I remember.”
“He was one of the dudes I ranted about. I was here earlier that night, and he didn’t try flirting with me. Didn’t even smile at me.”
“Clay’s not the type to smile. He’s more serious. Doesn’t get distracted.”
“Does that mean you think I’m a distraction?”
David ran his gaze down her body. “Yes.”
While her insides simmered, she picked at the bottom of her dress. And then she dropped her hands. She wasn’t some shy virgin, flustered by a compliment. She was Shayler Thompson, headstrong and fearless. “Drinks?”
“I’ll get them.”
David climbed out of the other side, and she watched him walk away. He had a good ass, but it wasn’t spectacular. He had a hot body, but it wasn’t exactly muscular. His square jaw was masculine, and his scruff was sexy, sure. But if he were ranked in a textbook, he’d be slightly above average. So why did looking at him make her body sizzle with electricity? And, more importantly, would that ever stop? Because she was starting to think these feelings were permanent, and, if that was the case, she was screwed in the worst kind of way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
David set down a vodka soda in front of Shayler, and she waited for him to take a sip of his beer before she did the same. Tapping her fingers on her dress, she focused her gaze on the dance floor and the people who were lucky enough to grind against someone and release their pent-up sexual tension. Lucky bastards.
“Wasn’t I supposed to buy the drinks?” she asked to distract herself.
“Oh, yeah. Guess you owe me.”
Shayler sneered and took a large gulp, leaving the glass a little less than half full.
“Wow.”
“I’m a pro at this,” she explained.
“Am I gonna have to hold your hair again?”
“Only if you’re lucky.”
Silence filled their booth, but it wasn’t the comfortable sort. It was awkward. So awkward. Her leg jogged up and down as she searched for something normal to talk about. They’d already discussed their home lives, friends, and careers. All that was left was basically what his lube preference was, and she doubted David was the kind of guy to have one.
“What’re you thinking about?” he asked.
“This feels awkward.”
“Yeah. Why is that?”
“Will you dance with me?” she blurted.
He crossed his arms. “I told you I don’t dance.”
“You can’t go to a club and sit in the corner all night.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She huffed. “Because it’s boring!”
He grinned. “You really hate being bored.”
“It’s the worst. I feel all antsy and restless.”
“I’ll make you a deal.”
She hopped out of the booth, confident he’d dance with her. “What?”
“One dance, and we leave.”
“But it’s only ten—”
“We leave, and we go to the old cinema downtown. They’re playing The Last Samurai.”
“Ew. No. Why do you want to see that?”
“It’s my favorite movie, and I’ve never seen it in the theater. Please?”
She bit her lip, his pleading eyes doing things to her that even Bobby Dominguez’s tongue hadn’t achieved. “All right.”
“Yes!” He jumped out of the booth, offering a hand to Shayler. “One dance.”
Her stomach did a few somersaults as she took his hand and maneuvered around a few groups of girls. They hit the scratched-up floor, and David brought her closer to his body.
“This song sucks,” he said as the DJ played a remix of an already unbearable song from the radio.
Shayler laughed. “Agreed.”
He pushed her away, holding on to her hand as he spun her back toward him. Her body was flush against him, and she was ready to tangle her arms around his neck when he spun her once more. She squealed as he stopped the spin and dipped her.
“This isn’t real dancing!” she cried over the pounding bass.
“It’s realer than whatever that is,” he said, pointing at the girl beside them who was bent over, her ass shaking against her partner’s crotch.
“That’s twerking.”
“It’s awful.”
She cackled and let him twirl her, thankful her dress was too skin tight to flutter around her and show off her aqua-colored cheekies. David broke out in an embarrassingly awful rendition of the hand jive, and Shayler joined him. She felt giddy, her head light like she was thousands of feet in the air. Shaking her hips, she twisted
down like it was the roaring ’20s and she was at Gatsby’s party.
David slung his arm through hers and skipped them around in a circle, and it was probably the sexiest version of the hokey pokey that had ever existed. As she wiped a tear from under her eyes, Shayler couldn’t believe how free she felt. Not like when her brain was mushy from the effects of alcohol either. This was different. Real.
Goofing around with David was the most fun she’d ever had. Sex, clubs, bars, drinking, hiding open packets of ketchup in Rebecca’s grandma purse, none of it came close to this. They were laughing so hard they had to stop, and David pressed her against him while they caught their breath.
She lay her head on him, shaking as the last giggles left her. Then, the silliness faded away and she couldn’t breathe for different reasons. David was so close, she could feel all of him. And that meant he could feel her too. Her erratic heartbeat sped up.
She glanced at his face to find he was already looking at her, his gaze drifting from her eyes to her lips and back again. Her mouth parted almost automatically, and she pushed harder against him as she wrapped her hands around his neck.
Goosebumps ran down her legs and arms. Her body continued vibrating like one of those massage chairs that were always in the middle of the mall. She wanted him. Needed him. She closed her eyes as he set his hands on her waist, his thumbs moving up and down in time with the rise and fall of her chest. Shayler mouthed his name, expecting noise to come out. It didn’t, but she knew he still understood.
“Give it up for Queen Bey!” the DJ shouted into his mic as he scratched two discs.
The noise startled them out of their haze, and they broke up. Shayler combed her hair down, wishing the distance would help. It didn’t. Her body continued to burn as though she’d been on a tanning bed for hours.
“Bar?” David asked.
Shayler nodded furiously.
They muddled through the crowd, and Shayler was thankful there were chairs available at the end, away from people. She fell into the seat, her hands curling around the edge of the counter. Her pulse had yet to slow, and it felt like her heart was seconds from thrusting out of her boob and plopping onto the bar.
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