Page 68 of Scattered Glitter

A reluctant smile edges onto my lips, and I’m trying to keep it cool, keep him at arm’s length, but it’s hard when hiseyes are pinning me in place like this. “What if I’m a pillow princess?”

“I love a pillow princess.” He grins, mischief flickering in his eyes. “Keep your eyes on me and take it. I’ll handle the rest.”

Shit.Heat flares through me, but I swallow it, forcing myself to think. To remember why I’m supposed to keep my distance. Why I shouldn’t let him in, but the way his hands are now moving slowly up my thighs, is making it harder to hold onto the reasons.

“When are you done here?”

“After your dance,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

Am I really making an exception for him? Again?

“Well, consider your dance done.” His grip tightens, barely enough to pull me closer, to keep me grounded in his orbit. “You gonna take me home with you, Sparkle?”

I should say no. I should tell him to leave and walk away before it gets messy again. However, the thought of being alone tonight, of facing the empty silence, the cold, is unbearable. And honestly, he’s better than some random body to get through the night.

It’s just sex,I remind myself.

“If you’re asking nicely.” I bite my lip, my hand resting on his chest.

In one swift motion, he grabs my chin, pulling me into a kiss. His lips are soft, but there’s an urgency in the way he nips at my bottom lip like he’s asking for more than I’m ready to give. “Please, baby,” he whispers against my mouth roughly, desperately. “Please take me home.” For the first time tonight, I feel something other than anguish. And God help me, I want to say yes. “Yes? No? Maybe so?” he murmurs the words against my lips, waiting, holding me on the edge.

Fuck it.

“Yes,” I whisper. He smiles against my lips, kissing me again but harder this time. After a few moments, I break the kiss and grab his hand, pulling him up from the couch. “Come on, I need to grab my stuff.”

Pushing Hottie out of the room, I nod at Carl to let him know he doesn’t need to follow me. He raises his eyebrows but stays put, so we walk through the club, then the dark hallway, and into the locker room, where the music from the club fades to a low thrum. The second we step inside, girls who are lounging around in nothing but their stage outfits start to giggle and whistle.

Yeah, Hottie is fucking fine.

He immediately throws a hand over his eyes like a kid who has walked into the wrong bathroom.

“Oh shit, sorry,” he exclaims while the girls lounging around burst out laughing.

“Aw, look at the gentleman!” one of them teases.

“We show you ours if you show us yours,” another chimes in, throwing a towel at him.

He grins, still shielding his eyes. “Sorry, ladies. I’m off the market.”

The catcalls only get louder, the laughter ringing through the locker room. I roll my eyes, a reluctant smile on my face as I pull my wig off. “All right, all right. Cool it.” I grab my duffel from my locker, then pull on a pair of ripped jeans and a cami before slipping on a hoodie and grabbing his free hand again. Pulling him out of the locker room, I say, “You know you’re in a strip club, right? There is nothing in there you wouldn’t see on stage.”

“I didn’t watch any of them on stage,” he retorts, and I don’t know why, but it sparks something in my chest.

When the door to the locker room closes behind us, I come to a halt and smile up at him. “It’s safe to look now.”He cautiously peeks through his fingers before dropping his hand. “Off the market, huh?” I ask as I zip up my hoodie. “I told you I don’t date,” I remind him as we head toward the club’s back door.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not off the market,” he counters smoothly.

As we step out into the Vegas night, the cooler air outside hits my face, a welcome relief from the club’s heat. His bike is parked down the street, and the neon lights from the Strip get absorbed by its matte-black finish, an illusion fitting for Vegas. He pulls me along, his hand warm in mine, until we reach the bike, where two helmets wait.

“You had a second helmet ready?” I ask, crossing my arms, eyeing him suspiciously. “Were you that sure I’d come?”

He grins that same cocky smirk that makes my stomach twist in ways I wish it wouldn’t. “Nah,” he says, holding the helmet up like a peace offering. “I’m optimistic.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, but take the helmet anyway. Before I can slip it on, he steps closer, taking it from my hands again.

“Let me.” He slides it over my head, and pulls me closer to fasten the chin strap, his fingers brushing against my skin. “We need to make sure it’s tight. Ez’s head is big.”

I blink up at him, confused. “Who’s Ez?”

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