She re-entered the dance floor and got lost in the throng of dancers. A couple of guys tried to grab her arms but she shook them off, uninterested. She knew whom she was looking for. Mating and dating and anything of the sort could only be called a game. Chasing was part of the thrill. Ari had more pride than to chase a guy down in a bar, but four years of partying during college taught her how to lure one out.
Ari spotted him in the middle of the floor, dancing with a group of girls in the hazy light. Fangirls from the looks of them. One had her finger in his belt loop, near the button. Another had a fistful of shirt at his side. Possessive much?
Spinning away from him, Ari found the closest guy and began to dance. Nothing dirty, she didn’t want to cross any lines, but her hips swayed to the beat and the guy she’d picked was more than willing to be her partner. He had a shaggy mop of hair, kind of like Oliver’s except it glowed red like a halo in the lights near the stage. Damp with sweat, it fell into his eyes. He brushed it aside and Ari saw the hooped ring through his eyebrow. She moved her head to the music, laughing a little at his skinniness, the way his pants slid off his hips. They were saved by a leather belt.
Ari felt the lightest touch on her back, near the tattoo that peeked out of the top of her shirt. Maybe not even a touch. Perhaps just energy. She didn’t look. She wouldn’t dare. Not yet.
What she did do was shift her body backwards, not enough to touch the guy behind her, but enough to enter his zone. Despite their lack of physical contact, the guy behind her must have put off quite the vibe, because the boy in the droopy pants figured it out quick enough, giving Ari a little wave before turning toward another girl.
The tempo notched up again and Ari moved closer to her new partner, yet never touching or speaking. Her chest shuddered with each beat, releasing the stress from her body. She wanted to exhaust herself, forget about armed robbers and child prostitution. She closed her eyes and danced.
The song shifted and Ari turned. She opened her eyes, taking in the man in front of her. Shaved head. Light brown skin. Tall and slim, but ripped. She’d seen his abs before. The way he looked at her in return set her stomach on fire, and she ached to feel his hands on her skin. Something hard to cut away at the numbness. She lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head just a bit. Then she left the dance floor.
It was impossible to tell which beat harder, her heart or the music. Ari made her way through the crowd. She’d never done anything like this without a wingman—someone to keep an eye out and make sure there wasn’t any trouble. She liked to have fun, but her job made her aware of the dangers lurking in seedy bars and dark dance clubs.
Yet, she couldn’t seem to make herself care. Not now.
Pushing past the bar, Ari made her way to a dark corner. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and sure enough, he’d followed her. Dark-eyed and dangerous.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“I saw you out there, doing that stuff, the parkour?”
“Yeah.”
Ari considered that he might be stupid or slow or something, but the smile on his face said otherwise. He knew what she wanted.
“I just … you know … don’t ever …”
“Right.” He nodded. “Me—”
Desperate, she cut him off, grabbing at him with needy hands. Her fingers wove into the cotton of his shirt and she pulled him forward, kissing him on the mouth. The connection felt like a jolt of electricity running through her veins, melting the numbness, bringing her to life in the most dangerous way. She didn’t care, and obviously, neither did he, because his hands lifted her up, pressing her back into the wall.
The murky light formed a shade around them, the club-goers a curtain of protection. Ari and this stranger lost themselves in the throbbing music and one another.
Chapter 4
Ari woke the next day feeling like she’d been run over by a truck. She couldn’t blame it on alcohol, just the lack of common sense and some kind of lust-driven desperation.
After taking a scalding hot shower, Ari traded the combat boots and low-cut jeans from the night before for more conservative work clothes.
“Hopefully, I scrubbed the skank off my skin,” she said into the mirror, but she still felt the lingering effects of the club. The feeling of his hands on her body.
Exhausted and sleep deprived, she still felt more awake than she had in months. She didn’t know if it was from the thrill of taking risks, or from him. A shiver ran down her arms when she thought about it—him. She suspected she knew the answer.
Too bad she didn’t know his name.