Page 8 of Against The Rules

I wince. God. Maybe I am more of an old lady than a sexy cheerleader.

“What’s wrong?” Ty puts his arm around my waist, his fingers lightly resting above my hip.

He smells really good—like expensive cologne and clean hair. Not too much, not overpowering, but masculine and yummy.

“Erm.”

“Did you just sniff me?” he asks, and I cringe, my heels clip-clopping against the sidewalk.

A hawker tries to hand us postcards of half-naked women, but Ty ignores them, his eyes firmly on me.

“You smell nice,” I say in a small voice.

“I’m glad, that’s much better than the alternative.”

“Do you usually smell bad?” Jesus. Why did I ask this? God. The directors are so right about me.

“Absolutely.” He nods gravely, and I burst into laughter, putting my hand over his on my waist.

“I don’t mind you holding me close,” I say suddenly, then my throat closes up in embarrassment.

“That’s also much better than the alternative,” he says, his grip tightening on me slightly.

I swallow hard, all too aware of how close his body is, of the way the vibrations of his voice affect my whole body.

“Do you come out to Vegas often?” I make myself say, wobbling slightly. Shots and high heels don’t mix.

“No, not really. I love it though.” He pauses, his gaze swinging around the neon lights and garish buildings. “The energy here is incredible. It feels like the kind of place where anything can happen, you know?”

“It’s pretty chaotic,” I say slowly, because while yes, I’m having fun, this is a lot.

“Controlled chaos, maybe. But I love that. I thrive on it.” He grins down at me, and then his gaze dips to my lips.

Oh god, is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to kiss me?

“Controlled chaos,” I repeat, mentally flailing. “I like that. Maybe I need more of that.”

How he’s managing to keep his focus on me while I’m struggling to walk under the haze of alcohol is, frankly, incredible.

“Maybe you do,” he says, the words so soft I almost miss them over the hubbub of the busy and loud Vegas Strip. “Maybe we can have some controlled chaos tonight.”

My entire body goes tight and loose all at once.

“Why not?” I ask slowly.

“But first, pizza,” he announces, steering me into a glittering modern hotel full of fancy-looking people.

“And wine.”

“If that’s what the beautiful Savannah wants, that’s what the beautiful Savannah gets.”

Beautiful.

I’ve never thought I was ugly, I always knew I was pretty—pretty enough, at least—but when he calls me beautiful, it makes me warm all over.

He makes me feel special.

So when we sit down with our pizza and a bottle of red wine in a tiny, hidden pizza counter in the fanciest hotel I’ve ever been in, I drink a little too much.

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