“She’s okay. I’ve got her,” Clare says, and grabs my arm, dragging me onto the dance floor.
Dmitri watches from between our barstools, his back to the wooden bar top. He folds his arms across his chest. His brow is tight as he watches us dance.
“Do you have a thing for Dmitri?” Clare shouts over the music.
My cheeks burn, and my eyes widen, but he’s far enough away that I doubt he can hear her question. At least, I hope he can’t.
“What? No,” I say a little too quickly. “We’re just friends.” I’m not sure we’re friends, but I helped him out, and he’s telling me what I can and can’t do tonight. Not that I had any intention of driving home. I was going to take the subway, but still, I don’t like being bossed around by anyone.
“Well, he’s checking your ass out.” Clare grins and offers him a wave to let him know she caught him staring.
“He’s probably checking you out,” I mutter. Clare always had a talent for catching a man’s gaze and keeping his attention.
That isn’t me. I’m the girl everyone wants to be friends with, the girl next door. It sucks.
Not that I want to be tied down, but I wouldn’t mind settling down with the right man. But that’s a fantasy. I have Allie. She takes priority. Men complicate things. Well, rather, relationships complicate matters.
“No, he likes you,” Clare says. “You should dance with him.”
I groan. “I’m not going to do that.”
“And why not?” she asks. The girl cannot take a hint that there are some things I might not want to discuss. “At the very least, bump and grind with him.”
“Excuse me?” I laugh at her suggestion.
“Come on. When’s the last time you’ve bedded a man?” She holds up a hand. “You don’t have to answer that, but just think about it. You’ve got a lot of pent-up frustration from today, and he can handle your needs.”
Clare waves at him with a wide grin on her face. “She wants to fuck you!” She tries to shout over the music, but I’m grateful he can’t hear what she says. Hopefully he can’t lip-read, either.
“You are evil.” I should be angry at Clare, but I’m not. The girl has my best intentions at heart, usually.
Dmitri struts across the dance floor. His eyes are warm. They crinkle upwards when he smiles subtly. “What was that?” he asks, and whether he understood her words, he’s more of a gentleman than most guys.
“Dance with me,” I say, and Clare shoves me at Dmitri, her hand on my back, pushing me closer. My arms wrap around his neck, and his hands are at my waist, steadying me as the room spins. Even if I wanted to take him home and invite him into my bed, I doubt anything would happen. There’s nothing sexy about taking a drunk woman who can barely stand on her own two feet home.
“It would be my pleasure,” Dmitri says, pulling me closer and tight against him. His breath tickles my ear as he leans in to whisper, “Did your friend just tell me that she wants to fuck me?”
I cough and choke on his words. “No,” I squeak, half-grateful he misinterpreted her words.
“Okay, good. Because she isn’t my type.”
“Smart, funny, and gorgeous isn’t your type?” I ask, glancing up at him. “That’s too bad.”
“No, it is, but she’s not the one I’m interested in,” Dmitri whispers.
I shiver, and he pulls me tighter against him. His hand rests against my lower back, and in soft motions, he’s caressing my skin, inching his fingers under the hem of my shirt.
Reaching onto my tiptoes, I pull Dmitri down, wanting to kiss, taste, and devour every ounce of him.
He pulls back and clears his throat. “It’s late. You’ve had more than enough to drink. I should get you home.”
“If you’re not interested, all you have to do is say as much.” I shrug out of his grasp.
Dmitri’s eyes tighten, and his jaw is tense. “We should offer Clare a ride home.”
He’s far more of a gentleman than I would have thought.
“Worried about being alone in the car with me?”