“I don’t think I’m up for any more dancing.” I spit into the bathroom sink one last time. “I’ll get dehydrated.”
“Nonsense.” She thrust the water bottle at me. “Just stop flailing around out there and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t flail.”
“You absolutely flail.”
I was about to argue some more when someone else caught her attention. A man with messy, golden-blond hair was standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, watching her.
She flushed pink, which was something I’d never seen from Chantel Cotê.
“Sorry, cocotte.” She was already moving, like he’d thrown a rope and was reeling her in. “You’ll need to go find another friend. And when I say friend, I mean Caleb. I’ll be a while. Actually, I probably won’t be back, so don’t wait up.”
Without a second glance, she raced down the hall toward him.
He watched her approach with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged. His gaze was demanding, almost accusatory, and I felt like I was in trouble just for existing in his vicinity. Even his smile was fierce. It was devious and blinding white, like he was ecstatic to see her and furious about it at the same time.
The closer Chantel got, the more heated he became. And my bold, outspoken, takes-no-shit-from-anyone best friend transformed into someone I didn’t recognize.
When she reached him, she waited. Let him make the first move.
For a moment, he did nothing. Just looked at her with an expression that lived somewhere between lust and reverence. Then he spoke, or maybe he demanded, and Chantel visibly shuddered.
When he bent his head to her, she tilted up to meet him like she was answering a prayer. And when he roughly grasped her chin, she opened for him.
He devoured her in one long, consuming kiss.
His hand fisting into her hair, the other digging into her hip, pulling her against him with a possessiveness that bordered on violence. She melted into it. Into him. Like she’d been waiting for this exact moment and had finally been given permission to stop pretending she hadn’t.
I was stunned. And maybe more than a little turned on.
They finally broke away from each other, then disappeared into the crowd, hand in hand. And I was left standing alone in the middle of a party I’d never wanted to come to in the first place.
I guzzled my water and tried to make my way to the quieter part of the house, but Zane’s place was packed. People were everywhere—dancing, drinking, spilling out of every doorway. The path around the living room was blocked, so I cut straight through the middle.
It was too warm. Too many bodies crammed into one space, the heat inescapable. It didn’t help that Chantel and her mystery man’s display had already overheated me.
I’d made it to the center of the room when someone grabbed me from behind.
Rough, clammy hands dug into my hips, yanking me back against a wall of sweaty, alcohol-soaked man.
“Where are you going?” a coarse voice demanded in my ear, his stale breath on my neck.
“Jeremy.” I wedged my elbow into his gut. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”
“I don’t need an invitation.” His grip didn’t loosen, his mouth still too close to my ear. “Come on, Zee. One dance.”
“You’re drunk, and I’m not interested.”
This was how it happened. How men like him got away with assault in a crowd. My voice was barely audible over the music, and the way he was holding me looked no different than half the couples around us.
“Why you gotta be so cold?” His fingers dug deeper into my sides. “It’s just a dance.”
“Take your fucking hands off her.”
Cal. His voice landed like a physical force behind me.
Then he was there. Right there. Close enough that Jeremy would have to go through him to keep hold of me.