Page 60 of Things I Wish I Said
I grind my teeth, fighting the urge between staring at her tits like the guy in the diner and telling her to fucking drop her arms. “No. You’re not,” I say, winning on both counts.
Turning back to the table, Ryleigh takes her shot with the Ping-Pong ball and misses.
Big fucking surprise.
But when she turns to me and hands me the ball, I chuck it over my shoulder and dip down, my arms wrapping around her thighs as I scoop her up and over my shoulder.
She squeals in protest as I turn from the table with Cameron and Trent roaring in laughter behind me, calling me every name in the book between buzzkill and pussy-whipped.
Like I fucking care.
Call me what you want because I’ve hit my limit.
My only priority is keeping Ry out of trouble, and if she has one more drink tonight, I’ll fucking fail.
“Let me down, you big oaf!” she screams as she pounds my back with her fists and attempts to wiggle from my arms.
“Never.” I laugh.
“My hair! It’s going to fall off,” she hisses.
My steps falter before I decide she’s baiting me. “Better hang on to it, then, because I’m not putting you down until we’re far away from those tables.”
She curses and her hands disappear from my back in an attempt to hold her wig on.
Several people hoot and holler, making comments as we go. I acknowledge them with a smile or a nod of the head, like carrying a protesting girl over my shoulder is an everyday occurrence.
It’s not until we’re on the other side of the yard with enough people sufficiently blocking out the beer pong tables from our line of sight that I release her.
Dipping down, I set her back on her feet, dragging my hands up the length of her as I stand, to ensure she doesn’t stumble.
Her breathing hitches when I reach her hips, her breath turning shallow as I straighten to my full height, towering over her as my hands grip her waist.
“You jerk!” she smacks at my arms. “I was just having fun.”
“Yeah, a little too much.”
She rolls her eyes and turns away from me, headed in the direction we just came from when I hook an arm around her waist and drag her back to me, trying my best to ignore the way her body feels pressed to mine.
I have no idea what she’s doing to me. All I know is she’s driving me crazy in more than one way. It’s both surprising and frustrating.
“You’re not going back there, Sinclair,” I whisper in her ear.
She shivers, then turns in my arms and tips her chin in defiance. “Fine.”
Her supple mouth spreads into a slow smile, the first sign I’m fucked. “You don’t want me drinking anymore?”
I stare at her, my gaze dipping to her mouth. It’s full and pink and still a little glossy despite all the beer she drank.
“Dance with me,” she murmurs.
My stomach squeezes at the same time my head tells me this is bad fucking idea. My heart, on the other hand, ignores my inner voice and sides with my hormones that are begging for an excuse to touch her. I clasp her hand in mine and join the throng of people dancing on the pool deck.
The beat of the music reverberates through my chest as I rest my hands just above her waist and we start to move. I followher rhythm, trying to keep at least some semblance of distance between us as we dance to the music, but it’s no use.
She smirks, her body curving into mine as if I’m drawing her in. Pressing closer, I shift one hand to the small of her back and we move in sync, one song blending into the next.
The press of bodies surrounds us as the dance floor spreads out farther into the lawn.
