Into Your Arms (Squad Stories #1)(8)

Why does someone so infuriating have to be so good looking? It should be against the laws of nature.

"He's staring," Tobi says, leaning down and speaking in my ear. I roll my eyes at her and grab Carrie's arm. She grabs Willow, and we make a human chain as we push our way to the crowded dance floor.

The music's pretty awful since it's just remixes of popular songs sped up with dumb effects, but it's at least something to dance to. I love being free to move and not having to remember choreography and counting to eight in my head. That gets old, fast.

I purposefully dance with my back to Rhett. I don't want to look up and accidentally make eye contact with him. Willow elbows me and then jerks her chin at something behind me before she grabs Carrie's hands and they start grinding together. Most of the guys around us get a kick out of that, but the joke is on them. It also doesn't hurt that they're the cutest redhead/Asian lesbian couple you'll ever see.

I feel someone standing very close behind me, but not touching me. Well. At least he has that in his favor. He hasn't just grabbed my hips and gone to town like a lot of other guys sometimes do. I could appreciate that. 

A finger taps me on the shoulder, and I slowly pivot around and almost smack into his chest. The other thing that drives me crazy (and by crazy, I mean it turns me on) about him is that he is so. Damn. Tall. He makes me feel delicate, like one of those swooning chicks on old-time romance novel covers. Except, of course, that he's way fucking hotter than Fabio.

"Good evening, Freya," he says like he's wearing a top hat and I'm wearing a hoop skirt and it's a couple hundred years ago. That's another thing about him. He's kind of a dork sometimes.

"Hello, Rhett. Is your mom a Gone with the Wind fan? Is that why you got stuck with that moniker?" His eyebrows go up when I say "moniker."

"I could say no, but then it would be a lie." Haha, he's named for a fictional bad boy. Could be worse. His name could have been Frodo or something.

"You, sir, are no gentleman," I say, quoting the movie.

"And you, miss, are no lady," he says, and I'm stunned.

I'm not going to tell him that I like his name. I'm also not going to tell him that Gone with the Wind is one of my top five movies and books. When I was little, my only dream for Halloween was to wear a hoop skirt and descend a set of stairs as everyone gasped. It didn't happen, but the dream hasn't died. Maybe someday. There's always cosplay.

He's watching me with one side of his mouth turned up, like he's holding in a laugh about something.

"What's so funny?" I ask. I hate asking. It gives him something to hold over me.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," he says, for a second getting serious. But before I can so much as blink, it's gone, and he's put his cocky bastard hat back on. He wears that one a lot.

"May I have this dance?" he asks. The flashing lights make his eyes look like they're sparkling.

"No," I say, taking a step back. This guy has a knack for invading my space.

"Why not?" His cocky bastard hat slips again for a second. Is me saying no actually bruising his ego?

"Because I don't want to." I hope the lie isn't making me blink too much. I always blink a lot when I lie.

"Okay, fine," he says, putting his hands up in surrender. "I'll be at the bar if you change your mind, but only for a while. I have other places to be." And then he fucking bows. Like, hand swept in front of him, one in back and going down until he's nearly folded in half. It's a feat that he has enough room in the crowded space to pull it off, but people seem to move out of his way when they see him coming.

He rises from the bow and then walks back to the bar, leaving me with my mouth open and wondering what the hell is going on.

"Did he just bow to you?" Tobi says in my ear.

"I think so." An entire room and dozens of bodies separate us, but it doesn't matter. I can still feel him here. Smell him above all the other scents that battle around me.

Rhett Miller is . . . something else.

Rhett

"Did you just fucking bow to her?" Jem says, laughing his ass of when I come back to occupy the stool he saved for me.

"Yup. Never underestimate the power of chivalry," I say as he slides a sweating beer bottle over to me.

"I'll take your word for it. Hey, I gotta bail," he says, looking down at his phone.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jem bails a lot, and he always has mysterious excuses. If I didn't know for sure that he wasn't a gigolo or a junkie, I'd be worried. But he doesn't ask about my past, and I don't ask about his. It's worked for us so far.