Page 2 of Jig's Last Dance

Getting drunk sounds really good right about now.

We pull up to the Point, and I exit behind her, the rowdy sounds of our peers echoing from above. I’m not dressed for a hike up the hill, but I wasn’t concerned with the physical effort when I squeezed my hips into my shortest, tightest skirt.

At least I have my combat boots on—my only nod to sensibility. Flipping my long blonde hair, pulled back in a messy pony over my shoulder, I stop at the head of the trail to pull my knee highs, complete with skulls, back up my legs.

Shawn disappears ahead of me, and I hop on one foot to follow, pausing when a husky voice says behind me, “Fuck me.”

I flip my hair again and turn to my admirer with a smile, only to stiffen. What the hell is Jig Blackstone doing here?

He graduated last year, along with his shady as fuck friends, Bastion and Cynster. This area is usually reserved for the incoming seniors, and his presence is really out of place.

He raises his eyes from my ass with a lazy smile, and I fumble, caught in the brilliant blue stare. If I had a dollar for every time some chick rhapsodized about the color, I’d be rich, but having the bright peepers directed toward me is a whole new ballgame.

They’re so striking that I have a hard time looking away. He has no such qualms, though, and his eyes dip down my form as he stops before me with a sly smile and raises a thick blond brow.

I see he’s traded out his blue mohawk for a shorter cut. I want to say he looks lame, but the fucker looks hot, and he knows it. His reputation precedes him everywhere he goes, and if you believe the rumors, he’s a veritable god with a huge dick and a wicked tongue.

I haven’t given it much thought . . . of course.

He’s so tall, I have to lift my head to meet his gaze, which isn’t saying a lot because I’m short at five feet two.

“Baby, you got a fine piece of real estate there,” he says, licking his lips dramatically.

Rolling my eyes, I rub my nose with my middle finger, ignoring the shiver of pleasure when he chuckles.

He’s a man whore, and if I had a dollar for every chick he’s fucked, some together no less, I’d be rich. So yeah, a millionaire at this rate.

Unfortunately, his words are like a mirage in the distance; there’s no substance, but it’s nice to hear.

“Feisty. I like it,” he says, the small loop piercing glinting wickedly when he wags his eyebrows.

In all the years I’ve gone to school with this dick, I’ve never seen him be serious unless he was beating the shit out of someone. It’s part of his job as a local grunt for the mafia, orfallen, as Shawn prefers to call them.

The term is disturbingly accurate. You’d have to be missing a chunk of your soul to dabble in that lifestyle. A thought better left alone. I’m not ready to go down that road.

“Why are you here?” I ask, turning toward the path that leads up the hill.

He grunts but follows, and when the silence is too much, I glance back to find his eyes on my ass again. I put an extra sway in my hips with a wicked smirk and chuckle when he groans, but soon my mirth fades.

This is Jig. He works for the fucking mob. It doesn’t matter how hot he is or how many times I’ve fantasized about him—which I haven’t, if anyone asks—he’s dangerous, and so are the people he associates with.

“Why? You—”

“Shit,” I say, coming to a stop

Jig, too close for comfort, looms at my back, his heat warming me as he mutters, “What the—?”

“Huh.”

There’s a large rock in the path. How it got there is a mystery, but the sounds from above lead me to believe everyone else found a way around it. They must have climbed over it because it’s wedged between two granite cliffs.

I eye the damn thing dubiously before stepping forward. Fuck it. I won’t be the only one to pussy out. Besides, my ride is up there somewhere. Bitch.

“Need a hand?” Jig asks, and I don’t have to look at him to know he’s eager to touch the goods.

Ignoring the tiny thrill, I shake my head. “No.”

With that, I grab at the rock and pull myself up, but my skirt rides up my legs as soon as I do. Jig groans. I pull harder, and when my skirt pops over my ass, he gasps.

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