Page 18 of The Sound of Us

“Do you mean we’re spending the night together partying or you think we’re going to spend the night together in be—?”

“She’s with me.” Dante’s voice was calm and controlled but his clenched jaw hinted at anger, barely restrained.

“What the fuck?” Aaron scowled and released me to get up into Dante’s face. He was taller and wider than Dante, and thick with muscle, but Dante dominated the space with the force of his presence alone. A few of Aaron’s rugby buddies looked over with interest, and my pulse kicked up a notch.

“We’re together,” I said quickly. “Dante and me. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.”

“You? With him?” Aaron laughed. “You think I’d believe that? He’s a NARP. We”—he gestured back and forth between us with a thick finger—“don’t do NARPs.”

NARP was short for Non-Athletic Regular Person, and Aaron was right. Elite college athletes usually dated each other because it was hard for NARPs to understand our strict diets, limited alcohol intake, early bedtimes, and pre-dawn morning practices. Not that they didn’t sometimes cut loose like Aaron and his rugby buddies had done tonight, especially after a big game, but they would suffer for it at practice tomorrow.

“I’m a NARP, too,” I said, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I’m not on the basketball team anymore.”

“It’s okay. You’re still hot as fuck.” His arm slid down my back and he slapped my ass.

“Hey…” I turned to give him a piece of my mind, but Dante swooped in so fast I didn’t see him move. He shoved Aaron in the chest with two hands, sending him stumbling back into two girls who were dancing behind him.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

Aaron’s face darkened and tension crackled in the air. I’m not sure what would have happened if another rugby guy hadn’t comeup and clapped Aaron on the shoulder. “Dude. Not worth it. Beer funnel in the kitchen. Let’s go.”

I waited until Aaron had disappeared into the kitchen to do a little shouting of my own. “What the hell was that? Were you going to start a fight? Because he slapped my ass? I can bench press a hundred twenty pounds…”

Shut up, Skye.

“… and in high school I held the team record in the squat, bench press, and power clean.”

Oh God. Stop.

“I can look after myself.” I flexed my biceps for him, the small ripple barely visible on my bare arm.

Shoot me now.

“Understood.” Dante nodded. “I’ll be sure not to get on your bad side.”

“Why are you here?” I asked as I tried to wrap my head around the fact that he had actually come to the party.

“You invited me to party with the bad kids. How could I turn down that kind of invitation?”

My face flamed. “I was drunk. It was a drunk dial. You weren’t supposed to take it seriously.”

“How could I not take it seriously? Aside from the fact that you told me you were at a frat known for double-shotting to get women drunk, yours is the first booty call I’ve ever received.”

I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “That’s hard to believe. Haley told me your show gets more call-ins than any other at the station. I can’t imagine you don’t get the occasional booty call. In fact, I’d be shocked if you didn’t because I’ve heard your show and your voice…” I trailed off when he smiled. “What?”

“You listened to my show.”

Unable to meet his gaze, I stared down at the beer-and-mud-covered floor. “Maybe once or twice. Just to see if you played any decent music.”

“Did you listen on Monday night?” He slid one hand aroundmy waist and every nerve in my body fired at once as the soft jazz notes of Peder’s “The Sour” played over the speakers.

“Yes, and if you’re going to play songs about getting over fear, then you have no business leaving out Rachel Platten’s ‘Fight Song’ and Coldplay’s ‘Magic.’”

“Coldplay?” He snorted his derision. “They could have been the next Radiohead, but instead they cashed in on a mass-appeal pop styling and became U2 wannabes.”

“I lovedParachutesandRush of Blood.” I slid my hands over his broad shoulders and breathed in the scent of him, leather and citrus and masculine warmth.

“Hmm.” He pulled me closer, his lips brushing over my hair. “There might possibly be one or two good tracks on those albums.” Dante tightened his arm around me, and I softened against him. “Maybe three.”

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