Page 57 of Things I Wish I Said
With a sigh, I throw my hands up. “We’re at a party. Don’t be so boring. Surely you can move your hips as well as you can swing a bat.” When I wag my brows, he tips his head back and laughs.
“Nice try. But I don’t dance, Sinclair. Not for anyone.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “You’re telling me that you, Mr. Popular, never went to a high school dance?”
He glances away from me into a throng of people. “There was a time I did, yeah. Because I had a girlfriend. But not anymore, and the only way you’re getting me over there”?he nods to where the crowd is dancing?“is if you allow me to partake in activities one and two I mentioned earlier.”
I scoff.
His gaze slides down my body, and I shiver. “Activity three wouldn’t be so bad either,” he says, his tone husky.
I snort. “Nice try, but that,” I say, swirling a finger at him, “is exactly why you should dance with me. It’s time you discover there are more ways to have fun than activities one through three.”
“Hey, Ryleigh!”
My head whips toward the sound of my name, settling on the dark haired, dark eyed boy from Grayson’s baseball team, and I wave. “Hey, Cameron.”
Without waiting for Grayson, I cross the yard to where he’s standing behind one of the folding tables, a stack of plastic cups in his hands. “I was wondering when you guys would get here,” he says to me before glancing over at Grayson, eyeing his empty hands with an arched brow. “You drinking?”
Grayson’s demeanor changes from playful to annoyed. “Nope.”
“Damn. I think this is the sixth time I’ve seen you sober in the last week, bro.” Cameron glances back at me and winks. “You must be good for him, Ryleigh.”
“Not that good,” I grumble. “I asked him to dance, but he refuses,” I say with a pout.
“Aw, don’t take it personally.” Cameron drapes an arm over my shoulders while Grayson scowls. “The only chick that could ever get De Leon to do any of that shit was—”
“Don’t,” he says between gritted teeth.
Cameron falls quiet. Tension stretches between them, and I study Grayson, who seems to be doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact with me.
I assume Cameron is talking about his ex—the one Grayson dated for three years—but I don’t mention it as I nod toward the table with the clutch of cups. “Are you finishing up, or are you about to play?”
“Why? You want in?” Cameron grins.
“Absolutely.”
Beside me, Grayson shakes his head. “No. It’s a drinking game, Ry.”
I scoff. “This might be my first party, but I know what beer pong is.”
“No drinking.”
Cameron snorts. “Wow. You’re finally sober and suddenly you’re a square, and no one can have fun?”
I say nothing, just stare up at Grayson because we both know the reason he doesn’t want me to drink.
“I promised your mom,” he says.
“What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.”
He glares at me, the muscle ticking in his jaw. “Can I have a word?”
I sigh as he grabs my arm and steers me away from the table. Once we’re far enough so Cameron can’t hear, he snaps. “Are you crazy? You can’t fucking drink.”
“Well, then we’ll just have to win,” I say, as I pat his chest with a grin.
“Sinclair,” he warns.
