Page 526 of Rock Me All Night
Ethan nods to someone behind me. It's Pete. He's talking to one of the models. My cheeks flare. She's gorgeous with miles of legs and a tiny, toned lower half. A tiny, toned everything actually.
It doesn't make sense. He can ask some model/actress to play his girlfriend. She'll be used to the constant scrutiny. She'll benefit from any media attention.
The weight on the couch shifts as Ethan sits next to me. It's a little closer than platonic. Okay, I can put the pieces together. He's trying to see if Pete will get jealous.
It's incredibly immature, I know, but I want to know if it will work. If Pete has any interest in me beyond as his faux girlfriend.
I nod ago for itto Ethan.
He scoots a little closer as he hails Pete over. "Hey, Steele. You ever showing up to this party?"
Pete turns towards us. His eyes catch mine and stay there. It's like the model disappears. The way he's looking at me, I'm sure he's not interested in any of the other women in the room.
My cheeks flush. My breath picks up.
"You look amazing." He slides onto the couch and hugs me hello.
My lungs empty. It's the first time he's really hugged me. It's the first real hug I've had in a while—my family doesn't hug—and it makes me warm all over.
For a moment, all the sounds and sights of the club fade away. I feel nothing but Pete's arms around me, his hard chest against mine, his breath on my neck.
When he pulls away he shoots Ethan aget lostlook.
Ethan moves to an empty chair with a smile. He's an instigator. I can tell.
He and Tom exchange a series of meaningful looks. I'm not sure how to parse them, but it's clear they're referring to us.
This lie is a big deal.
"Ethan give you trouble?" Pete slides his arm around my waist protectively.
"No. I was about to get some dirt about what you were like in high school out of him," I say.
Pete pulls me closer.
Ethan laughs. "Steele is secretive. Not sure I have much. Besides the emo glasses."
"Damn. I miss the emo glasses," Tom says.
Tom and Ethan spar. I can't say that their conversation interests me. Not with Pete's body next to mine.
His hand slides to the curve of my ample hips. Mmm. The fabric of my dress is thin enough that I can feel all the heat from his palm. He smells good. I bet he tastes better.
My head fills with all sorts of delicious mental images. I want to take him up on his offer.
Once I've decided what I'm going to do.
If I can get over how awful I feel lying to his friends.
A nasally voice cuts through the room. "You're due backstage now Tom. Mr. Steele."
Immediately, Pete pulls back. His posture stiffens. His eyes flare with frustration.
"Why am I never Mr. Steele?" Tom's voice is half teasing, half tense.
They're looking at a short, balding man with a ponytail. He's wearing a too tight suit in a shade of bright blue straight out of the 1980s.
"Cause you've got no class, Sticks." Pete's trying to joke but he's not selling it.
