Page 41 of Sully

“That, I have to agree with. Okay. Fair warning, tequila can knock you on your ass, so don’t chug.”

“Agreed,” I said, feeling anticipation sizzle across my nerve endings. Usually, I struggled with excitement at times. It oftenfelt just a little too close to anxiety, which meant anticipation could trigger a panic attack for me.

Somehow, though, I knew I was safe here with Sully. I mean, the man had set up a whole atmospheric viewing party. He’d donned a women’s duster to mimic the scene in the movie. He waited until exactly midnight to get the vibes just right.

This was a man I could let loose around.

Finished blending the drinks, he poured them into two margarita glasses that featured stems in the shape of cacti, then held his out to toast.

“To your newfound favorite drink,” he said.

I was dubious.

Until point-five seconds later, when I had my first sip. There was a slight bite of alcohol. But it was so overwhelmed by the sweet of the mix that it easily became unnoticeable.

So I sipped.

And sipped.

Before I knew it, my glass was gone. And my face was oddly warm. Hell, my whole body was overheated.

Before I could strip off a layer, though, the music was getting more upbeat, and Sully was reaching for my hands, forcing me to dance with him. He showed me the steps, then turned me around and around until I was laughing and dizzy, falling back against him.

“It’s really hot in here,” I declared, fanning my face with my hands.

“Tequila, baby,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

“What about it?” I asked. And maybe I let my head lean back on his shoulder. Hey, I was dizzy. I needed the stability. Or so I told myself, since all I wanted was to be close to him.

“Something about it making your clothes fall off,” Sully said. “Suddenly can’t remember the specifics,” he added, his arm sliding across my belly. “Feeling good?”

“Mmhmm. My mind is… quiet,” I added dramatically, waving out my arms.

“That must be a nice break, huh?” he asked, the side of his head leaning against mine.

“Midnight margaritas should be a regular thing,” I added.

“I can make that happen.”

“I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Nah.”

“I don’t even know how to slow dance.”

“No?” he asked as he reached toward his phone, clicking around. A second later, the upbeat song turned into a slow one from the movie soundtrack.

Then Sully was reaching for me and turning me to face him. His hands slid down my arms, grabbing my wrists, and sliding my hands up over his chest, then around his neck.

My chest pressed to his as his arms went around me, pulling me flush to his body.

Sparks erupted over every inch of skin, making me feel overly sensitive, aware of the way my shirt brushed across my skin, how his fingers splayed my hip, how his breath made my hair dance a bit.

His fingers pressed in harder, removing any space between our hips.

Before I could think on that too much, though, he was moving, swaying, leading me in the steps.

My instinct to get it right, to be perfect reared for a moment, but was quickly chased away by how good the moment felt.

---