Page 5 of Against The Rules

“You’re a dancer,” I say, trying not to drool all over myself. God. I have to shake myself to dislodge the thought of her flexible body in bed with me. Pull yourself the fuck together, Ty.

“Yeah, we’re all cheerleaders for the Wilmington Beavers,” she says casually, running her fingernails through the condensation dripping on her glass.

I nearly choke on my drink and cough, trying to cover up my sheer shock.

What are the fucking odds?

“That’s what Tiffany wanted me to tell you,” she says ruefully, jerking her chin at the now writhing group of women back at the bar. Luke and Ben look like they’re in heaven, and I bite back a laugh.

“That you’re a cheerleader?” I ask, because my brain is still skipping over the details of where she lives, who she cheers for.

“Yeah,” she says, and some of her confidence ebbs away as she gives me a crooked smile. “She said to lead with that. Guys think it’s sexy.”

“You don’t need any help in that department, trust me.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Perfect white teeth nibble her bottom lip, and the look she gives me says she plainly disagrees. “Please. Don’t lie.”

“Who made you think that?” I ask, because there is no way this girl doesn’t look in the mirror and know that on a scale of one to ten, she’s a ninety-nine.

“Why are you in Vegas?” she asks instead, narrowing her eyes. Clearly my question was too personal.

I’m fine with that. We don’t have to get personal.

“To have fun,” I tell her, shrugging one shoulder and giving her my best devil-may-care smile. “Isn’t that why you’re out tonight? To have fun?”

“We haven’t really gotten to see much of Vegas besides the inside of the UNLV gym.” Her nose scrunches at the last word, her expression clouding over. But when she smiles up at me, it’s all sunshine. It’s brilliant.

A waitress appears. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have another,” I say, holding up my empty glass.

“Me too,” Savannah says. “And shots. We both want a shot.”

“We do?” I ask, mystified but game. If the woman wants to have some fun tonight, far be it for me to stop her. “We do.”

“What kind?” the waitress asks.

“Your favorite,” Savannah says, and it’s clear from the way she stumbles over the words that she is not a drinker. Or, if she is, she doesn’t do shots often.

“You got it.” If the waitress is fazed by the request, she doesn’t show it. I doubt she is, though. I bet cocktail waitresses in this club have seen and heard it all.

“Shots, huh? Bad day?”

Savannah sighs, leaning back against the green cushions. “This definitely isn’t what Tiffany and Ashley want me to talk about.”

“Well, they’re not here,” I say impulsively, resting my arms on the table, studying her. “I am. But if you don’t want to talk about it—”

I let the offer stand, curious about this woman, more curious than I’ve been in a long time.

Maybe it’s because I know she’s off limits.

She’s a cheerleader for the same team I play for. Players can date whoever the fuck they want, no one gives a shit.

But we all know the cheerleaders can’t date players; they’re not even allowed to talk to us.

I smile, and her gaze lands on my dimples. It’s a good thing we’re here. Everybody knows what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? That’s their whole damn advertising campaign.

CHAPTER 3