Page 11 of Filthy Sweet

I shrug. “I am.”

“Come on,” Reggie says, encouraging me. “Give Owen some dance tips.”

“I’m really fine!” Owen says, frowning at his brother. He bounces his hips. “Just finding my rhythm.”

“Come,” I say, reaching out and taking his wrist. I find the sway of the music, guiding my hips and getting him to move with me, distracted by the softness of his skin and the warm beat of his pulse. “Just keep it simple. Don’t try too hard.”

Owen looks at his brother, who pumps his fist, and we both laugh.

“The first time I took him to a gay bar, he asked the DJ if they had any Jock Jams,” I tell Owen, who laughs again, relaxing a little more.

I release his wrist and step closer, maybe a foot away from him. I’m pretty sure this is just a night for Owen to get comfortable. He’s not giving me the impression he’s going to try to hook up with anyone. But in case he’s going to surprise us, I want to make sure he still looks available.

Owen matches my rhythm, falling into a shared motion. I loosen my shoulders, and he does the same. I realize that it’s been ages since I just danced. I’m always trying to guard myself, making calculated impressions and hanging out in the dark corners of rock concerts.

But this is nice. Watching Owen smile and relax, coming more and more into his body, I let my guard down, too. I stop trying to project the right image, and just let myself have fun.

“Check it out,” I say. “You’re a natural dancer.”

Owen laughs. “That might be an exaggeration.”

Reggie appears by us and grabs each of our shoulders, sweat dripping down his chest. “Great dancing,” he says sincerely. “Gonna grab another water.” He hesitates and looks at Owen. “I saw a guy over there I thought you might like. I tried to tell him about how you just came out, but—”

“Reggie!” Owen yelps.

“What?” Reggie asks in his booming Big Reggie voice. “You don’t want Big Reggie’s help getting laid?”

I push my finger over my best friend’s lips, silencing him. “No more talking to men for Owen.”

Reggie starts to object, and I push my finger harder. “Reggie,” I caution.

He grunts, relenting. “Fine. Be right back,” he grumbles, then heads toward the bar.

“Thanks,” Owen says.

I wink. “Glad to help. Now show me that dance you were working on.”

Owen smiles as we slide back into the dance. The music thumps, and we move closer to each other, riding the beat.

Owen lifts his arms above his head, giving himself over to the song. His shirt rises up, revealing his flat stomach and hips, and a big smile fills his face. Heat floods to my crotch, and I’m drawn to him, to touch him and move with him, smell him…

He’s so fucking sweet. I want to take his face in my hand and run my thumb over that lip. I want to tell him exactly how sexy he is because it kills me that he’s insecure. The Lavignes have always been good to their core, probably too good for me, and I’m struck by a strong urge to make sure that Owen is as happy as he should be.

More than happy. I want to make him fucking explode.

The thought surges through me. Owen looks at me, eyes wide behind his glasses, and I realize I’m rock hard, my cock bulging in my jeans. When he takes a gentle step toward, swaying his body with mine, I startle.

“Shit,” I say roughly, turning. “I’ll be right back.”

I break the spell and walk away, my heart pounding. Sure, Owen is cute, but what the hell am I thinking?

I’m thinking about making Owen come all over himself, that’s what.

No fucking way. Reggie is the only family that I have in this world. I’m not going to go and do something reckless like get a boner from his little brother.

I adjust my jeans. Fuck, I am painfully hard, though.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check, I see it’s a work message, followed quickly by another, each from our publicist. I don’t usually hear from the office, and especially not at night.

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