Sweet Cheeks(18)

My attempts to keep my distance from him fail. Word has gotten out to those in the club that the hometown star, Hayes Whitley, is here. Lucky for him, the club’s bouncers have cordoned off our area to keep the onslaught of admirers from bombarding him and causing a riot in the club. The darkness and our exclusive spot in the VIP corner near a private entrance affording him some privacy from the ever-ready camera phones. Unlucky for me, it means I can’t turn around without noticing him.

I just want to get out of here now.

But I don’t make any effort to leave. For some reason my feet refuse to walk toward the exit. So I decide to ignore him. But after a short time I realize ignoring him is impossible because every little thing about him catches my attention. The strain of his shirt cuffs over his biceps as he lifts his bottle of beer to his lips. The distinct sound of his laugh hitting my ears. How, when he leans over to talk to Ryder who is sitting on a sofa, his pants hug the very nice curve of his ass. The clean scent of his shampoo that hasn’t changed after all this time. His eyes constantly watching me in silent judgment.

He’s everywhere when I want him to be nowhere.

Yet isn’t that why I came tonight? I can tell myself till I’m blue in the face that I agreed to hang with Ryder and his friends because I feel guilty for blowing them off in the past, but I’d be lying to myself. And not a very good lie either.

As I meet Hayes’s gaze yet again from across the small space, I know he is the reason I’m here tonight. The off-chance he would show up to see Ryder, his oldest friend, had me putting more effort into my appearance than I have in a while. Like going through my closet to find something that was non-bakery attire to wear, washing the frosting from my hair, and actually putting on more than my usual, lip gloss and mascara.

The fact that he has me questioning myself infuriates me. And the notion that I’ve spent so much of the past hour and a half thinking more about what Hayes sees when he looks at me than actually having a good time is the last straw.

Screw him. Screw his opinions and his thoughts and his judgmental eyes that are looking my way once again. He’s the one who walked away. He’s the one who gave up a good thing without a fight, and if he’s going to keep staring at me, I’m going to show him just what he’s missed out on.

I take another sip, well aware that my courage is in the form of liquid, but I don’t care.

Pride is still pride.

My laugh becomes a tad louder. My hips sway to the beat a bit more. When I look his way the next time, his jaw pulses and his focus is more intense. My only acknowledgement is a smirk in return.

Another sip. A playful twirl out from another of Ryder’s friends that leaves me pressed flat against his chest when I spin back into him. I’m breathless from the exertion and extremely buzzed so it might take me a bit longer to step away as our chests heave against one another’s. Or I might just be well aware that Hayes has his very fine ass resting against the back of a stool a few feet to our right and his eyes haven’t left me.

The night plays on. My concern over what Hayes thinks or doesn’t think about me slowly fades with each drink I have, each person I chat up, and every laugh that falls from my lips.

Ryder senses something is going on. Notices this unspoken dance between Hayes and me and the invisible barrier of our shared history vibrating between us. My brother catches my eye a few times, asks if I’m okay, and I smile in return.

He told me I had to find my confidence again. Little did he know I’m choosing tonight to do just that.

I’m laughing at something trivial, attention focused on some antic of one of the guys when I feel a hand on the bare nape of my neck. I still, somehow knowing who the hand belongs to.

Heat. It’s all I can feel. All my mind focuses on. From his skin touching mine. From the unexpected presence of his body behind me, his lips to my ear, his breath hitting my skin. From the sudden ache in the V of my thighs.

“I love the laughter much more than the temper.” Hayes’s comment is barely a murmur, and yet I can hear every single word despite the constant boom of the music.

I force a swallow down my throat and nod my head, needing to hold tight to my confidence, and hoping to keep solid ground beneath my feet, because being near him is making it off-kilter for some reason.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t piss me off.” I turn my head toward him, eyebrows raised, proud of myself for my comeback, until I realize he’s so close we’re breathing the same breath. I startle back—uncomfortable at his proximity and confused over the sudden awareness of everything about him. His cologne. His fingers still resting on my neck. The scent of mint and beer on his breath.