Page 26 of Never Fall for an Angel

He doesn’t move.

“What did Loverboy want? Another alignment?”

“Let me rephrase,” I try again. I’m in no mood to talk about whatever he did to Corbin. “Please, come dance with me.

He chuckles as he stands to his full height in front of me.

Why does he get to be so damned tall?

My pulse flutters, my thighs clenching from the tingles that shoot through me when the familiar scent of leather, whiskey, and the forest washes over me.

—and attractive?

“I don’t dance.”

Rejection is a harsh mistress.

Of course, he doesn’t.

“Fine,” I grit, my cheeks burning hot. “Have it your way.”

I down the rest of my drink and place it on the table in front of him before sauntering back to the dance floor. I don’t see Bailey, but Savannah and Logan are in the center, doing the devil’s tango with each other.

I almost roll my eyes. I wish they’d just sleep together and get it over with.

No, scratch that. I wish I could gethimout of my head so I could move on with my life and stop waiting for something that will never happen.

Looking back at the table, I see Christian there, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze trained on me, daring me.

Fuck him. Fuck Marcus Parker. And fuck whoeverunknown asshole number oneis.

Shooting him a glare, I slip into the crowd.

Ifeelhis gaze burning a hole through my back as it follows me through the room. Instantly, I’m engulfed in a sea of bodies, and someone’s hands find my hips, moving me along to the music.

Breathe. You can do this. It’s just dancing.

I suck in a deep breath past my lips, pushing those old familiar feelings of disgust to the back of my mind, and force myself to exist in the moment. No Christian. No Corbin. No masked men or scars.

I let myself get swept away, feeling the beat of the music and the shot of liquor coursing through my veins while the man slips his arms around me, our bodies moving together.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he slurs in my ear, and I push a smile to my face when I really feel like I want to vomit.

“Thank you.”

His hips grind against mine, and people swarm around us, immersing us in a sea of bodies until there’s nowhere to go.

It’s dirty. It’s sexy. It’s also disgusting, but I don’t allow myself to think about that. I’ll worry about it later when I’m scrubbing my skin raw from the touch of this man’s hands, but right now, I need to do this.

This is what people my age do. We go out. We party. We have a good time despite the ramifications of our actions tomorrow because we’re young and have our whole lives to figure shit out.

The man’s hands on my hips venture higher, over my ribcage, and I almost pull away. Then I imagine they belong to a certain broody someone, and heat blossoms in my core, my pussy growing wet when I imagine his rough words at my ear.

Is it wrong? Probably. Is it creepy to picture him in another man’s place? Also probable. Do I care?

Absolutely not, because for the first time in nearly a year, I feel like a real human being and not a defective replication.

Then, the man behind me lets go completely, and before I can spin around, new hands slip into his place.

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