“I’ll bet.”
His attention is stolen by something over my shoulder, and I don’t need to look to know it’s Marcela. She’s stripped off the sweater she wore at the shop to reveal a sheer black camisole with lace trim and twisted her bleached hair into a sloppy bun on top of her head. Add a fresh coat of red lipstick and she looks like every guy’s fantasy of a naughty librarian.
Nate’s fantasy, in particular, never mind the fact that his date is also blond and has an actual book in her hand. He looks agitated as he watches Kellan and Marcela hug and kiss chastely on the lips, though to be honest, the gesture looks more like estranged cousins coming together at a funeral. For two people I know to have fairly extensive sexual track records, their libidos really don’t seem to be very much in sync.
“Hey,” comes a breathless voice from over my shoulder.
I turn around to see Crosbie holding two bottles of the beer we’d had on Halloween. He’s unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a tight wife beater underneath, and I want so badly to run my hands under that shirt, feel the contrast of smooth warm skin and hard muscle and know that it’s mine to explore. But I can’t.
“Hey.” I return the smile even as his falters when he sees the beer in my hand. “Kellan,” I explain. “He just gave it to me.”
“Crosbie!” Two guys from the track team approach, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. “We figured it out, the way you tore that card in half and then repaired it.” A dramatic pause. “You had another card somewhere.”
Crosbie shakes his head. “A good magician never reveals his secrets.”
The guys nod in unison, though they’re obviously disappointed. “Right, man. You have a code. That’s cool.”
The pair leaves, but before Crosbie and I can speak, Marcela and Kellan take their place. “Let’s dance!” Marcela exclaims, bouncing on her toes to eye the writhing dance floor that makes up half the pub.
“C’mon!” Kellan grips Crosbie’s wrist. “You remember Miss Maryland from Halloween? She’s here and she still wants to meet you. Don’t blow this!”
Crosbie shoots me a helpless look before Kellan steals both bottles of beer and sticks them in my free hand. “For safe keeping!” he shouts, then the trio disappears into the crowd.
I watch them go, chastising myself for feeling disappointed. I’m the one who wants to keep Crosbie and me a secret. I’m the one making it so we can’t hold each other’s hands and drag each other onto the dance floor. I’m also the one standing here alone, feeling like an idiot.
“I’ve heard of double fisting,” says a voice from over my shoulder, “but triple fisting? I guess you’re on a mission.”
I glance up to see Max—the Walking Douche—grinning down at me. He’s already got a drink of his own and I hold up my three. “Think you can keep up?”
He laughs. “With you? I’m not sure.”
“Were you at the coffee shop? I didn’t see you.”
“I was,” he says. “It was great. I didn’t know you worked there.”
“Yeah, a few nights a week. I—”
The song changes to something fast and popular, and everyone cheers, crowding onto the floor. “Come on,” Max says, clinking one of my bottles with his. “Drink up and let’s dance.”
What am I going to do? Insist on lingering on the perimeter and safeguarding the drinks? “Sounds good,” I say. I down half a bottle, then stick the trio on a nearby table and let Max lead me onto the dance floor. It’s been far too long since I’ve just let go, and it’s fun. It’s not hard to gravitate toward the track team since half of them are still wearing their jackets, and soon we’re part of a big, writhing circle of bodies, all moving to the same up tempo beat.
I didn’t have anything to change into so I’m still in my skinny jeans and long-sleeve top from work. I feel sweat beading along my nape and gathering in the small of my back, but I don’t stop, not when one song turns into two which turns into five. Because even though Max is beside me, his hand occasionally grazing my hip or my shoulder, it’s Crosbie I’m watching, and he’s watching me. On the opposite side of the circle, Miss Maryland doing her best to steal his focus, he’s dancing too. This is as near as we can get, thanks to my whole secretiveness kick, the reasons for which I’m having a lot of trouble remembering at the moment. Because he looks so hot, six feet away, his eyes searing me all over, stopping on parts of my body that so desperately want to feel more than his gaze.