“One dance,” he says, stepping forward so we’re close enough to dance. All I have to do is put my hand in his. I look at his lips, so tempting they make my mouth water. But I don’t move.
“Why?” I whisper, suddenly short of breath.
“I came here for one dance,” he says. “Then I’ll leave.”
“I don’t think they’re going to let you stay for even one dance.”
“They can try to throw me out,” he says. “But I’m not leaving until I’ve danced with you.”
“You’ll get arrested again.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
I swallow hard before sliding my arms around his neck. His hands fall gently on my hips. The DJ starts the music, a different song now—“Say You Won’t Let Go.”
“How did you know I like this song?” I whisper against his ear.
Devlin shudders and pulls me closer, his eyes dropping closed for a second. “Lucky guess.”
“Or gross invasion of privacy?”
“Yeah, that too.”
I lay my head on his chest, angling my mouth up toward his neck. “Devlin? Why are you really here?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I was at home, and everything was fine. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you here with my cousin. It was fucking with my head. I got tired of being pissed about it, so I came here to see what you were doing.”
“Wow,” I say, laughing shakily. “Stalk much?”
“When it’s you? Fuck yes.”
“But you hate me.”
“So?” he says. “You hate me, too.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. I search his eyes, finding a challenge there, as if he thinks I’ll contradict him. I swallow hard and then nod. “Yeah…”
“Then shut up and dance with me until the cops come.”
His hands are strong on my waist, his long fingers almost circling my middle and making me feel small and fragile. His body is hard against mine, sending my pulse racing and my brain spiraling as I inhale against his neck. For one moment, for one song, I let myself go. I let myself imagine what it would be like, this fairytale. I let myself believe.
And then the song ends, and Devlin pulls back. He stares into my eyes, neither of us letting go. The music changes to something that requires twerking and grinding, but Devlin’s eyes never leave mine, his hands still on my waist, his hips barely swaying. My pulse begins to pound hard and slow. I’m barely moving, but my breath comes faster than if I was dancing my heart out.
“Devlin,” I say slowly.
And then a commotion at the door draws our attention. Someone shrieks, and a ripple of voices spreads across the room.
“Cops…”
“Cops…”
“Cops—”
“I better go,” Devlin says, the corner of his mouth quirking for just a second.
“I thought you were untouchable,” I say. “You can’t even bully your way into a school dance?”
Colt grabs Devlin’s arm and my hand, dragging us toward a side exit. “Let’s bounce,” he says. “This place is about to get too lame. I’m not meant for jail. This horse likes to run free.”