Page 88 of Perfect Praise

Locke takes charge as soon as I’m back on my feet, pulling me flush against him. His left hand wraps all the way around my torso and rests on my upper rib cage. His right hand takes mine and nestles it against his chest.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes.

God. I’m putty. And he knows it. I’d follow him to the ends of the Earth just to hear him compliment me. And degrade me. It’s quite a welcome mindfuck.

Locke treads that fine line between telling me how he actually feels and making me wet while he does it so freaking well. This little game we’re playing, I don’t stand a chance. But he’s right. Either way, I win.

He nudges his nose against my cheek. “Are you winning?”

I curve my body into his and nod. He’s quickly hardening against my leg.

“Both of us are.”

“Fuck, I wish I could feel how wet you are. I want that sexy little thong you have on as a trophy later.” He pulls me against him harder. “Now, you want to dance. We’re going to dance.”

He smells like fresh air and leather, like his sheets and his couch and his clothes. His whole damn house. My whole damn house.

And then he leads.

“You can dance?”

“Can and do are very different things, Maren,” he muses. “For instance, Icandance well, I just don’t. I can make jokes. I can smile. I can be sweet… in my own way. I can drive people around and let them rent my house. I just don’t.” Locke kisses my forehead. “Except for you.”

His words drop in my heart, settle at the bottom, and start fizzing.

Why me?sits on the tip of my tongue. What’d I do to get so lucky? But some things probably aren’t worth asking. Some things you can never explain—they just happen to you. And sometimes thewhyme?is even a good thing—a great thing—but you’re still left wondering if you deserve it.

So, I repeat softly, “Except for me,” and I like the sound of it.

One scrunch of my nose gets him to smile.

“I love your freckles,” he whispers.

“I love your dimples,” I whisper back.

We fall into the rhythm, swaying back and forth with the occasional turn. Locke holds me just tight enough to control my body movements, and it’s only us and the cadence of our breathing against each other’s chests.

One song turns into two, and I never want this night to end, but eventually the band stops playing, they announce the bidding will start in ten minutes, and I need to pee.

When I open the bathroom door, I’m met with a cold white marble foyer.

The stall doors around the corner are those heavy wood that go all the way to the floor so you can’t see if it’s occupiedor not.

Try number one and two are unsuccessful, but three is unlocked. As soon as I shut the door, muffled laughter echoes across the marble walls. I freeze when I hear “…Maren…” or Erin or Karen.

I press my forehead against the door when I hear Locke’s name… or lock?

One girly voice says, “How do you think she managed that?”

“I’ve been eye fucking him for years. Never got so much as a reaction,” another voice says with a laugh.

“You eye fuck everyone,” a third joins in.

“Russ said she has no backbone. I wonder what Locke is getting out of it,” the first voice says, who I now realize is Lydia.

On instinct, I straighten my back and drop my shoulders away from my ears, like I’m trying to prove to myself she’s wrong.

The second girl I can’t place. “Everyone’s obsessed with them.”

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