Page 28 of Kiss and Tell
Connor went quiet, gathering the paper into a pile with a sweep of his hand.
“Anyway,” he said after a moment. “This place is definitely not what I’m looking for in a bar.”
“What exactly don’t you like?” I asked.
“Everything,” he said. “Music’s too loud, drinks are too expensive for the quality, and the strobe lights are blinding me.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that.”
While we’d been talking, the crowd had continued to grow and our empty little corner had been overtaken by a mass of those exact same dancing drunk people Connor had referenced.
Someone bumped into me from behind, jolting me forward until my stomach rammed into the table. I winced and rubbed at the sore spot.
“Hey, watch it,” Connor called out in warning, but no one turned around.
He put a hand on my shoulder and shuffled over to make room for me to stand closer to the corner, away from the people. It was oddly protective.
It also brought the two of us closer. Our toes were nearly touching.
“Let’s say we finish our drinks and head out.” He had to nearly shout for me to hear him.
His hand was still on my shoulder, shifting me to the side every time someone else came close to tripping over me. I didn’t protest. My brain was preoccupied with the touch of his thumb brushing back and forth along my collarbone, seemingly absent-mindedly.
Connor wasn’t looking at me, or at the spot where our bodies were connected. He was scanning the crowd, eyes wary and a small frown on his face, as if looking out for trouble.
A foot connected with my ankle, sending me flailing forward, right into Connor’s arms. He caught me with both hands on my hips as my palms pressed into his chest. I looked up and started to apologize.
The words didn’t leave my mouth.
Connor’s gaze was fixed on my parted lips. His eyes were dark, gleaming with heat. His fingers flexed, digging into the flesh of my hips. My own fingers curled, fisting his shirt in my hands, unwittingly drawing him to me.
His head tilted to one side. Mine tilted to the other side unconsciously, mimicking his movements. With every breath, we inched closer.
He tugged me toward him, our hips fitting neatly against one another’s. I inhaled sharply as one of his knees slipped between both of mine. His thigh pressed between my legs. My hips swayed forward, nearly grinding down against him without thinking.
A sharp elbow jabbed itself into the side of my ribs. I hissed in pain and jerked back. My hazy brain found itself in control of my body again. My eyes went wide as I realized Connor’s hands were still on me. I flinched away, my fingers uncurling from his shirt as I quickly dropped my arms.
What the hell had I been doing? I’d just finished telling Connor to stop flirting with me and I’d practically swooned in his arms. And in the middle of a crowded club, where anyone could see.
A queasy feeling churned in my belly. I put a hand to my stomach, trying to ease the sickness.
“Quinn,” Connor said, one hand reaching out to me.
I flinched back again, darting around the table to separate myself from him. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I was afraid of what I’d see. I fumbled in my purse for my cell phone, pretending to look down at it.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “I should head home.”
“Quinn,” he said again. “You don’t have to go.”
I finally looked him in the eyes. His wounded expression was almost as painful as the nausea rising in my stomach. I averted my gaze again.
“I’m going to call a taxi,” I muttered.
“Would it really be so bad if we—”
“Yes, it would,” I cut in. “There’s a line here and I’m not going to mess everything up by crossing it again.”
“Again?” His brows drew down into a frown.
