Page 27 of Thief of my Heart

The opening piano bars of “Still Dre” sounded through the warehouse, and the crowd went nuts.

“Hey, ma, you wanna dance?”

A pair of hands landed on my hips, and I strained my neck to see their owner. A guy who was maybe twenty licked his lips as he openly ogled my magenta-clad body. My lips felt like rubber as I let him draw me close enough to feel his cock—at least I thought that’s what it was—harden against my hip. Close enough to know he wanted a lot more than a quick grind.

How did people do this when they had barely met?

A few couples away, I caught sight of Angie grinding with another guy and giving me the thumbs-up over his shoulder. She approved of the one who’d found me. I should have liked this. I should have wanted to continue.

But the boy’s breath reeked of stale alcohol, even through a breath mint. And close up, the pores on his nose were really clogged. And some of the hairs on his face were ingrown, causing an pimples around his chin.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste and stepped away. “Thanks, I’m good.”

The kid looked genuinely shocked as he grabbed for my hand. “The fuck you mean? You chose me, rubbing your booty practically in my face.”

“I let you grab my hip, not my pussy, jackass,” I snapped, yanking my hand out of his.

I’d raised my voice loud enough to be heard even above Dr. Dre and Snoop. Moments like these were always a little dangerous, even in my limited experience. Nine times out of ten, pushy men like this one backed off like they were supposed to. No one wanted a crazy bitch yelling at them in front of their friends.

But sometimes, they came right back at you. Sometimes, they found you elsewhere. That was a whole other thing I’d never had the pleasure of experiencing.

But it was a risk a girl had to take for a bit of respect in places like these.

Luckily, this risk paid off.

Mr. Handsy backed away with a snarl, muttering unintelligible insults under his breath before he disappeared into the crowd.

Determined not to lose my chill, I continued to dance.

“Girl.” Angie appeared beside me, Linda in tow. “What is up? Which one you want, Le? Take your pick. It’s a buffet in here.”

“I like the one over there in the orange shirt,” Linda remarked. “Isn’t that Victor Jenkins’s older brother? He’s been staring at Lea all night.”

I turned at the mention of my ex-boyfriend, if you could call him that. The one who had christened me Cherry Popper. Frigid. If he could see me now… “I—no. No…that’s actually…oh my God, that’s Victor.”

As if he’d been summoned like a demon simply by saying his name.

He was a little older but a whole lot more grown-up. Still tall, of course. Well over six feet, with dark, wavy hair and sharp eyes, plus a well-groomed goatee to match his immaculate fade. His smile was always crooked, as if he were permanently amused. I hadn’t seen him since he’d graduated from Belmont Prep. Two years that had transformed a skinny basketball star into an outright man.

Who was now looking at me.

And now, crossing the room.

And now, dodging dancers until he was standing. Right. Here.

“’Sup, Lea,” he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Long time no see.”

“I—you look—” I said out of the corner of my mouth as his hands landed on my hips.

Something gleamed in Victor’s eyes. “Thanks, babe. You look good too.”

I exhaled. I felt like I couldn’t move. “Don’t.”

A smirk played over those full lips that I had once seriously craved. “Don’t what, Lea? You want me to let go?” Victor massaged my hips, moving lower with each pass. “Or maybe you want me to stop talking?” His eyes practically undressed me. “This dress…damn, girl. Why didn’t you wear stuff like this when we were together?”

“Because you didn’t fuckin’ deserve it,” Angie remarked, despite the fact that it was her dress I was wearing.

I swallowed, wondering why the hell my body didn’t seem to want to follow my brain. Why my mouth had stopped working.

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