“What?”
He gestures to my body. “I’ve been standing here for a few minutes watching you dance. Is this how you dance when you’re in public?”
“Yeaaah,” I reply, dragging the word out. “What’s wrong with how I dance?”
“Nothing,” he says, picking up on my tone. “It’s just pretty . . .”
“Pretty what?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. He’s about to insult me, I know it. What the hell was wrong with my dancing? I thought I was a pretty good dancer, as a matter of fact. I danced growing up and all through high school, and I had good rhythm. In fact, people often commented how great I was at dancing when I used to go clubbing.
“Your moves are even sexier than the women I’ve seen at Toxic,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and clearing this throat. “They’re fuckin’ sexy moves. If you were mine there’s no way in hell I’d want you to dance like that in public, because every man would be staring.”
I wipe my wet hands on the tea towel and close the space between us. “Did you just say that I dance like a stripper?”
He puts his hands up. “Not exactly—”
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, tapping my finger on my cheek. “Sluttier than a stripper.”
I try to keep my face straight so he thinks I’m serious, even though I’m just playing around with him. I know I’m a decent dancer, but I also know that I do like to dance sensually.
“That’s not what I said,” he growls, lowering his hands. “They’re just sexy moves. All that winding and grinding and shit—you know what I mean.”
“Clearly I don’t,” I say in a dry tone, hiding my amusement. “I just spent more than an hour cooking for you, and you walk in and tell me I dance like a stripper and shouldn’t dance in public. Am I missing anything?”
“You’re overreacting,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No,” I say, grabbing the plate with his crumbed chicken. “This would be overreacting.” I open the trash can and pretend that I’m about to dump the food when Vinnie grabs the plate from me and holds it aloft.
“I can’t believe you almost did that!” he says, sounding both surprised and upset. “What the fuck, Shay?”
I start laughing at his expression. “As if I’d throw away food.”
“What?” he asks, checking over the food, not even paying any attention to my words.
I roll my eyes. “The food is all there, Vinnie, now take back the stripper comments.”
“Sorry” by Justin Bieber starts to play. An apt sound track for the moment.
“All right,” he groans, putting the plate back down on the table and pulling me against his body for a hug. Bad idea. The feeling of being pressed up against him isn’t going to help with my attraction to him. “I’m sorry, Shay. I’m so fuckin’ sorry that you dance like a stripper, and that you have terrible taste in music.”
As his words hit me, I struggle to move away, but he keeps me pinned with his giant arms wrapped around me. “You jerk!”
“I’m not done,” he growls again, lifting me in the air and throwing me over his shoulder, my arms dangling. He walks with me outside, and the second he heads in the direction of the pool, I start to squirm harder.
“Don’t you dare throw me in there, you asshole!” I squeal, legs waving in the air.
“What a great idea,” he says, standing on the edge of the pool. In one swift movement, he tosses me in, the cold water surrounding me in an instant. I push off the bottom and swim to the surface, where Vinnie is laughing like a fucking hyena. Pushing my wet hair out of my face, I send him the dirtiest look I can muster.
“I’m never cooking for you again. Ever,” I grit out, swimming to the edge and jumping out. I look down to discover that my white top is now completely see-through, my nipples pebbled and very visible. I glance at Vinnie to see that, yes, that’s exactly where his gaze is. Covering my breasts with my hands, I look at his face and wait for him to notice me staring at him. It takes a while, and I realize it’s because my skirt is also pasted against my body, showing off every curve and crevice that I own.
“Can you stop looking?” I growl at him. “And get me a towel?”
“Nope,” he says with a wide smile on his face, lying back on the hammock and putting his hands behind his head. “I think it’s my turn to enjoy the view.”