“I don’t care.”
For one moment, I stay out there alone. I open my mouth wide and scream, then inhale, swallowing up the whole night. The cold, the sparse lights in the small town, the cars driving by with flags for the school, the laughter of my friends inside, the buzz of champagne bubbling in my veins. I feel electric.
When we get to the dance, we’ve already polished off three bottles of champagne, and we’re all a little tipsy. The people taking tickets give us dirty looks that range from suspicious to disgusted to pissed, but we don’t care. We brought the party.
I realize that as we step into the dance hall, beautifully decorated with black and gold. A swarm descends on Colt, and no one seems to remember that Dixie and I were Dolce dogs. We have beautiful boys on our arms. We laugh as loud as we want to. We dance before anyone’s dancing because we can.
Yeah, Lacey and her bitchy friends stand at the edge of the dance floor giving us looks and snickering, but I know it’s only because they’re not confident enough to walk out onto an empty dance floor and kick things off. That’s okay. Someone’s gotta do it.
And pretty soon, other people come out and dance with us, and then the dance floor is full. People might say they hate the social hierarchy, but they don’t. The truth is, we created it, and without it, no one would know where they fit. And everyone likes to fit somewhere. What they like even more is knowing where everyone else fits. When we’re like this, people are comfortable. No one wonders where we fit; no one is on edge because they don’t know what to do with us. We belong with the Darlings, at the top. That’s something they understand.
Colt dances up close to me, lifting his arms and swiveling his hips. “This colt hasn’t been broken,” he says, giving me that sexy, young-Matthew McConaughey grin. “Wanna try riding this one bareback, or do you need a saddle?”
“I need a lot more alcohol,” I say, laughing and moving in time with him, leaving a space between us.
“That can be arranged,” Colt says, hooking an arm around my waist and pulling me to him. He pushes his thigh between mine and moves in a slower, dirtier rhythm. “You sure about this just-friends thing?” he asks, his champagne breath warming my cheeks. “Because I’m feeling something.”
“It’s called drunk,” I say, pushing lightly against his chest.
“Is it?” he asks, his lips brushing my cheek and sending a shiver down my spine. He takes my hand and brings it between us, pressing my palm against a rigid bulge in his pants. I’m so shocked I wrap my fingers around his shaft without thought. I’ve never touched a guy like this before, and my heart stammers in my chest at the intimate contact. Before my brain catches up to my body, Colt’s lips meet mine. He pushes his hard-on into my hand, groaning into my mouth and plunging his tongue between my lips.
“Colt,” I say, tearing my lips away and jerking my hand from his. “What are you doing? We’re in the middle of a room full of people.”
He catches my hand, grinning and giving me his puppy-dog eyes. “We can go somewhere more private if you want.”
“I don’t,” I say, my body rigid in his grip. “I said we were just going as friends.”
“To make your brother happy,” he says. “He doesn’t have to know it’s more than that.”
“It’s not,” I say, convinced of the truth of my own words now that I’ve spoken. Sure, it felt good, and the memory of his thickness in my fingers sends a dart of excitement through me. If I’d never stood waiting for Devlin’s lips to meet mine, the whole world spinning upside down and out of control, Colt’s kiss might have been enough. If I’d never felt Devlin’s breath against my lips and prayed so hard for him to kiss me that there was not a single thought in my head, it might have. If I’d never felt my knees buckle at the scent of his skin, it might.
But I have. Colt’s touch is nice, but it’s not Devlin’s. I find my eyes straying to the door, but of course he’s not here. He can’t come to this.
“Okay,” Colt says with a shrug and a lazy grin. “If you say so.”
And then he keeps on dancing like I didn’t just shoot him down. I can’t tell if he’s really unaffected, or if he hides it as well as he hides everything else.
“Let’s just have fun,” I say.
“Already having it,” Colt says, spinning me around and pinning me to his chest, his hips grinding into mine. I like dancing, and if he’s okay with dancing with me after I rejected him, then I’m okay with it, too. Maybe he goes around kissing girls all the time. On my first day, Lacey told me to watch out for him and Preston, that they go through girls like tissues and toss them away with as little thought. I have to believe Colt is just doing what he does, that he’ll just find some other girl for his next victim as easily as he found me.
We dance, and after a while, the awkwardness is forgotten. I dance with the girls, and in a group with everyone, and jump up and down with my brothers to an energetic song. Dolly has no shame and does the chicken dance to some song, so I join her. When Lacey and her bitchy friends start mocking us, Dolly just yells for me to “shake my tail feathers at them.” She turns out to be lots of fun, despite her gloomy disposition the night before. I don’t even care if I’m a Dog or a Doll or neither or both. I just care that I have friends to dance with, the feud is over, and I’m having fun. Everything is perfect.
We’ve been dancing for a few hours when suddenly, a hush falls over the dance floor. I turn, searching for the commotion. One of the doormen is at the DJ booth, gesturing angrily. I feel a prickle on the back of my neck and turn slowly. Devlin Darling stands at the edge of the dance floor in dark jeans and a buttoned shirt, staring at me.
With a scratch, the music dies.
The dancers grumble, then fall silent when they realize there’s drama to witness.
Or… Something.
My heart hammers so hard that I can’t think of or feel anything else. I join the crowd in gaping at Devlin. He gives a quick glance around and then strides forward. Toward me. The girl he humiliated and threatened last night. The girl he called a dog, and forced to take shots, and led around a party on a leash like a fucking animal.
He stops in front of me. I should cringe away from him, but I don’t. I inhale the clean soapy smell of him, like he just showered. His hair is combed back and looks still wet. His skin is smoothly shaven. His blue eyes pierce into mine, down to my very soul.
He holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”
I can’t think of the right response. My mouth opens, and words pop out. “You’re not supposed to be here.”