Page 80 of Unspoken Rules

“So let’s go drink more.” He smirks.

At the bar, he gets us another shot and another drink. We stand around the outside of the dance floor that is a few steps lower in the center of the club and watch while we enjoy our drinks.

“How you feeling?” he asks, getting close to my ear. His breath fans across my skin, giving me goosebumps.

“Much better,” I say, taking the last sip. “One more, and we should go dance.”

He grins and disappears to the bar to get another drink. He returns a moment later and hands it to me. I probably shouldn’t drink these so fast, but the atmosphere here is making me want to dance. I want to go out there and dance with Tomas, but I can’t shake the anxiety. Pretty sure I’ll be just fine once all these drinks hit.

And I’m right.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m grinding all over Tomas like I’m a stripper and he’s the pole. He’s loving it, if the smile on his face is any indication. Plus, he’s laughing. It isn’t purely sexual, we’re definitely having fun, but how can grinding all over someone like this not be sexual in some way? I don’t want to have sex with the guy, but feeling how excited he is over this, as in how hard his dick is when I rub my ass against him, it feels good.

I can make guys hard.

I’m not a complete failure. Maybe dating won’t be so awful.

The song changes, turning into something a tad slower. I focus on Tomas’s warm, firm body behind me, the thumping of the base, the darkness mixed with flashing lights, his hands on my hips and around my waist.

It all feels so good.

But I can’t stop wishing the body I was grinding all over was a different one.

A bigger one. More muscular one. Older one.

Definitely a forbidden one.

I can’t stop thinking about Cole, and it sucks.

Isn’t there some saying about the person you think about when you’re drunk being your true love or something?

I mean, obviously that’s the alcohol talking. I’m not in love with Cole.

But I sure love the way he makes me feel.

Safe. Seen. Important. Like I matter.

I want to share my good news with him. He’d tell me how proud he was of me. How I’m going to do great at the interview. And even though I wouldn’t believe it, he’d make me believe it. He would make it all okay.

How the hell am I going to go to that interview without something from Cole? A wave of panic washes over me as I think about sitting in a tiny office while a stuffy old man asks me questions I don’t know the answers to.

I turn to face Tomas. “I have to pee!”

He nods, takes my hand, and pulls me out of the crowd toward the bathroom. The line is long, and my phone is burning a hole in my pocket. I do have to pee, but I also have ulterior motives.

Once inside, I go to a stall to do my business. When I’m done, I pull out my phone.

Me: I got an interview.

I stare at my phone, counting down the seconds, blinking rapidly because my phone keeps getting blurry.

Definitely drunk.

Definitely should not be texting Cole.

What time is it?

I move the phone closer to my face to see the time since it’s so small. It’s only ten. He’s still awake.

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