by McKinley May
Vaughn nudges his head in their direction. “What do you say, Raynie? Dance with me?”
I bite my lip uneasily, not sure how to respond. I’m trying to avoid close contact with the guy, and grinding up against him on the dance floor?
Not exactly what I had in mind.
I’m about to decline, but then he hits me with puppy dog eyes, and—ugh—how the heck am I supposed to say no to that?
I’ll just make sure we keep the dance moves PG.
Yeah, that ought to work. A little Macarena, some Cupid Shuffle. I’ll even throw in the Chicken Dance for good measure.
Absolutely nothing sexy about that.
“Fine,” I tell him. “But I’m going to need another drink before I go out there and embarrass myself.”
He grabs the attention of the bartender and points down at my empty shot glass before holding up two fingers.
“Always buying me drinks.”
He frowns. “Are you twenty-one?”
“Yes?” I say with a puzzled inflection.
“Alright, and are you hot?”
Oh, okay. Now I see where this is going.
“Very funny.”
He shakes his head. “Nuh uh. Wrong answer, Raynie. Let’s try this again. Are you hot?”
I give him a dramatic eyeroll. “Yes, Vaughn. I’m twenty-one and hot.”
A cheesy grin pops on his face. “Then I’m buying you a damn shot.”
Our “damn shots” arrive quickly. We each grab one, clinking them together before tossing our heads back and downing the smooth lemony-goodness.
“Ready?” he questions, eyes shimmering under the soft lighting.
I already feel the liquid courage surging through my bloodstream as I set the glass down and begin leading him towards the crowd.
“Let’s go.”
18
Three hours, multiple rounds of shots, and a dozen sticky bar floors later, we’ve lost a few casualties to the night. Most hopped in a cab and headed home after the first couple of bars, even with Lexie repeatedly calling them wimps for bailing early. Usually, I’d be right there with the wimps —the Head wimp, actually—calling a cab to come pick us up at the stroke of midnight.
I figured it might be frowned upon to do that at your own birthday party, so I decided to stay.
And you know what?
I’m so glad I did.
Tonight was a total blast.
For the first time in forever, I let myself have some worry-free, no consequences, old-fashioned fun; I danced on bar tops, belted out karaoke with Jessica, and even rode a mechanical bull. Sure, it was only for 3.2 seconds, but who’s counting?
It was one hell of a night, and it’s a miracle Lexie, Jorge, Vaughn, and I are still awake right now as we stagger down Dublin Drive, alcohol-filled and exhausted.
Lexie and Jorge are a few feet ahead, caught up in a passionate discussion about Game of Thrones while Vaughn and I keep our distance behind them, having a little discussion of our own.
“She’s definitely an eight. Did you see how bloodshot her eyes were?” I exclaim, but Vaughn shakes his head adamantly.
“Nah, she was walking in a perfectly straight line. I’d say a five at the most.”
He elbows me and nudges his head towards a dude who’s got both arms draped around his buddies' shoulders, his body resembling a rag doll. “Him?” he asks covertly.
Our subject has a sloppy smile on his face and can barely keep his eyes open as his friends drag him along. When they get closer, Raggedy Andy points a limp finger at us.
“Hey! Hey! Fuckin’ Steel Purple, bro. You fuckin’ rock, man.” As we pass them, he slurs out, “Go Warriors!”
The moment he’s out of sight, we both double over laughing.
“Oh my God,” I wheeze out. “That one’s easy.”
“Ten.” We give the guy the highest score in unison. He was completely wasted.
Yep, we’re just a couple of drunk people rating how drunk other drunk people are.
Say that five times fast.
I face Vaughn. “Okay, my turn. Let’s see if you can rate me.”
I stroll a few steps ahead and straighten my posture, trying to look as sober as possible as I walk forward. I think I’m doing a pretty good job until he calls out, “Six.”
“What?” I whirl around and throw my hands in the air. “No way, Vaughn. I’m like a three or four. More tipsy than drunk.”
“Really?” He snorts. “Why are you so damn wobbly then?”
I glare down at my shoes. “These heels are not my friend. Seriously, why the hell do people wear these things? I’ve almost broken my ankle twice tonight, and for what? A few more inches in height? Not worth it.”
And—almost as if my heels took my insults personally—my next step is another close call with a sprain, my right ankle giving out and twisting underneath me. Vaughn jogs up and grabs my arms, steadying me as we both start laughing again.
“Dammit!” I curse between fits of tipsy giggles.
When I gather myself and resume a standing position, I notice him looking over, squinting at me with a weird, dazzled expression.
“What’s with the face?” I ask.
He slowly shakes his head as we walk, a smile tugging at his lips. “I like spending time with you, Rayne Everett. You know that?”
I grin. “And I like spending time with you, Vaughn Steel. You better enjoy that statement while you can because this is the only time I’m ever going to admit it out loud. And if you try to remind me about this, I’ll flat out deny it.”
When he doesn’t respond, I raise my head. He’s still got that strange, bewildered look on his face, like he’s having some sort of revelation or a Come-to-Jesus moment, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t hear a word I just said. I chalk it up to the alcohol—he must’ve been projecting his own six on me—and we continue on.
Suddenly, I spot the grungy sign for Rabbit’s Foot a few buildings ahead, and memories flash through my mind.
I bump Vaughn with my shoulder, pointing to the flickering letters.
“There’s where you were a total prick. I still haven’t forgiven you, by the way.”
He snaps out of his little trance and smiles down at me, but his eyes are swimming with guilt. As we approach the bar, he comes to a halt in front of the entrance, staring at it intently. Lexie and Jorge haven’t noticed we’ve stopped, and they keep getting farther ahead.
“Vaughn?” I say from a few steps in front of him. “Coming?”
He doesn’t move. “Let’s go inside. I want a do-over.”
“First impressions are forever, Steel. You can’t change the past.”
He turns, his mouth in a tight line, determination clouding his gaze. “Watch me.”
At first I think he’s kidding, but when he starts walking towards that bar like he’s got something to prove, I know he means business.
I send a quick text to Lex letting her know where we are and to text me when she gets home safely before speed walking to catch up with him.
We flash our IDs at the half-asleep bouncer and head inside the dark and dingy bar. A few late nighters are dispersed throughout, sipping their drinks and scrolling through their phones. Other than that, the place is fairly empty. Low music hums through the speakers, giving the club a calm and quiet vibe. It’s an entirely different atmosphere from the night when I first met Vaughn and could barely hear myself think over the deafening music.
He leads me across the empty dance floor, the blue shelf lighting behind the bar helping to guide our way while casting deep, indigo shadows over our skin.
When he comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the room, I run straight into his back.
“Sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my nose.
He turns, placing his hands on my shoulders and pulling me closer to him. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, warming me to the core. The faint smell of his masculine scent combined with sweet liquor makes my head swirl, and I take a small step forward, clo
sing the gap between us.
Wait… what am I doing?
I need to get out of the Danger Zone, not closer to the center!
Before I can back away, he slowly swivels me around, pointing to a booth in the back corner of the bar. I instantly recognize it as the same one I’d spotted him in a month earlier.
“Go sit over there,” he commands.
“By myself?”
“Yeah. We’re going to try this again since I fucked it up the first time. I need you to give me another shot. A second chance.”
“So you’re not gonna be a total asshole this time?”
He gives my shoulders a light squeeze. “Me? An asshole? Never.”
I start to twist my neck so he can see my smirk, but he gives me a slight push in the direction of the table.
“Wait,” I say before I take a step. “You were sitting there last time. If we’re doing this over, shouldn’t you be the one in the booth?”
He moves closer, taking me by complete surprise when he presses every inch of his hard, warm body against me, molding himself to the curve of my back. And although I attempt to will it away, every part of me freakin’ aches in response.
He gently sweeps a lock of hair from my face. I tense at his touch, my heart pounding so vigorously I’m positive he can hear it. He leans his head over, practically brushing his lips against my neck as he whispers softly by my ear.
“This time I’m approaching you first.”
Holy hell.
A deep, pleasant shudder pulses through my body as I lose all sense of thought and clarity for a moment. Vaughn gives me another nudge towards the booth, and—by some miracle unbeknownst to me—my feet manage to carry me there.
I settle into the comfy leather cushion, closing my eyes and taking a few long, frustrated breaths. I’d been doing sooo good all night with him: keeping my distance, pushing my ridiculous urges to the side, treating him like the friend he is.
But now it’s pushing three in the morning, I’m slightly inebriated, and I can tell the wall I’ve put up is slowly beginning to crack. I make a silent vow to keep my cool and reestablish the friendship boundary ASAP.
My eyes flutter open and Vaughn's standing there, leaning against the booth with two drinks in his hands.
“Hi.”
I decide to mess with him—friends do that, right?—giving him an exaggerated once-over. I raise a hand and flip my hair over my shoulder. “Sorry, not my type.”
He bites down on his lip, trying not to smile as he squeezes in beside me. He sets the drinks down and shakes his head.
“Bullshit.”
“What? Is it that hard for you to believe a girl wouldn’t be attracted to you?” I joke.
He musses his dark hair. “Nah, I’d believe that.” A cocky grin slips out. “I mean, I’d have to assume they’re blind or lesbian or something that physically prevents them from finding me attractive, though.”
I let out a snort. “Of course.”
An intense look rushes over his face, his demeanor going from light-hearted to dead serious in the blink of an eye, and I’m thinking my innocent joke is about to backfire on me.
“I’m saying it’s bullshit that you’re not attracted to me. Because I know you are.”
Yep, totally set myself up for this.
I swallow and take my lip between my teeth, knowing that if I try to deny it my voice is going to come out in a small, unconvincing squeak.
He raises his eyes to meet mine, his lustrous gaze illuminated in blue light. He speaks again.
“And I know I’m attracted to you.”
My mouth goes dry as he studies me. I grab my drink, gulping down the sugary cocktail.
When I finish, he’s still freaking looking at me.
His eyes are smoldering and stormy, an air of undeniable lust exuding from them. And maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me or the alcohol has blurred my vision, but there’s more to his gaze than just desire. There’s something honest there, something…real.
“What?” I question softly, my skin scorching under his perusal. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He reaches his hand out to find mine, long fingers resting on top of my own. His lips turn up in a small, soft smile, and I can't look away.
“You are so goddamn beautiful, Rayne. Everything about you. Inside and out.”
And it’s at that exact moment my wall comes crashing down and I throw the rulebook out the window.
Because the way he said that was so pure, so sincere, so heartfelt, I can’t fucking fight it any longer.
All the feelings I had the other night, the emotions and desires I’d been pushing deep, down below this entire evening, burst to the surface, an explosion of millions of miniature fireworks just beneath my flesh.
I look down at his hand on mine, watch as his fingertips graze across the delicate skin of my inner wrist, feel the tension between us build.
“Vaughn.” I whisper his name, a soft, longing invitation, and that’s it.
That’s all it takes.
Instantly, he cups the back of my head with his hands, pulling me deep into his kiss.
The moment our lips connect, I’m in another world. Fire burns in my veins, heat pools in my core as our mouths mold together, his soft, delicious lips pressed against mine like they were made to be there. It doesn’t take long for our mouths to part, and I let out a needy moan when his tongue finds mine in a passionate dual.
I drag a hand through his thick hair, the other palming his chest, finally allowing myself to touch him like I’d been dying to all night. And, God, the anticipation was absolutely nothing compared to the real thing.
Because my hands on Vaughn’s hard body…his fingers tangled and tugging passionately in my hair…the sweet taste of his mouth… this feels so good.
It actually feels right.
I wrap my arms around his neck and he places his hands on my hips, lifting me onto his lap as our tongues dance together in perfect rhythm. I can feel how turned on he is, his hard length warm and straining beneath his jeans, and the burning between my legs increases as I rub myself against him.
He groans and tugs me closer, my aching breasts taut against his chest and my legs curled up behind his back, the intense chemistry between us growing more palpable by the second. Pretty soon we’re full-on making out in the booth, kissing one another like we can’t get enough, like we’ll never be sated.
There are so many reasons I shouldn’t be doing this, but those thoughts are drowned out by the pure ecstasy zooming through my body, this fiery connection I couldn’t break if I tried.
I’m lost in this grungy bar, in this booth, in him.
Hypnotized by his lips, mesmerized by his touch, I am completely and undeniably under the Steel Blue spell.
And right now, nothing on Earth is going to pull me away.
19
I drum my fingers mindlessly on the marble top kitchen counter, my other hand cradling the side of my head as I hunch over a blank assignment I’ve been staring at for the last hour. I can hear a football game blaring from the living room, but it's as if the announcers are speaking another language, their words gibberish to my completely distracted mind.
I grab my phone and huff in frustration when I see a list of new messages, none of which have a small emoji for the name. Rayne and I still haven’t communicated since her birthday last week, despite my numerous attempts to contact her. Calls, texts, you name it. Shit, I got so desperate I even sent her a freakin’ email yesterday. Not too much longer and I’m gonna go real old school: Snail mail, carrier pigeons, telegrams, the works.
After texting with one another every single day for a while now, an entire week of not speaking feels like an eternity. Especially considering we have a wholeeee lot to discuss.
Like the fact that the last time we were together we were seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off.
Or the fact that the connection between us was fucking magnetic.
Or maybe the fact that I haven’t stopped thinking about it since the moment it happened, and I have a strong suspicion she’s dealing with the same damn thing.
Not gonna lie, I’ve made out with a lot of chicks. It comes with the territory of being a student athlete, and I’ve taken advantage of it just like any other hot-blooded, college dude would.
But this kiss? This fucking kiss was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. It was off-the-charts hot. The taste of lemon in her mouth, her soft, sensual moans as I nipped at her neck, the fucking passion in the way we were going at it, like I was going off to war or some shit.
