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Ozzy is trying to edge his way over to Chay, mindful of his injured arm, but Chay is dancing as close to Ares as possible, so she’s not paying any attention to him.
Hedeon seems to have decided that, in the shortage of girls, he might as well dance with Cat. Cat is confused by this at first, and keeps trying to edge away from him, so Hedeon grabs her hands and twirls her around. I have to stifle a laugh at the terrified look on Cat’s face. Hedeon may be grumpy, but he’s not a bad dancer. He’s surprisingly patient as Cat steps on his foot a couple of times before getting into the swing of it.
Anna’s definitely the best dancer of any of us. She slips in and out of Leo’s arms, sometimes dancing with him, sometimes with Chay and me. Chay had a couple of shots before we came down, so she’s plenty loose, grinding up on Matteo until his face is redder than her costume, then turning her attention back to Ares.
Ares lets Chay sidle up against his broad chest, but when she tries to put his hands on her hips, he only holds them there a minute before letting go again. Disappointed, Chay finally gives Ozzy the up-close-and-personal attention he’s been craving.
Ares is a mystery to me. He never flirts, which I suppose isn’t surprising since he’s quiet and reserved. But I’ve barely seen him look at a girl, even one as beautiful and as obviously interested as Chay.
I don’t get the feeling he’s gay. Of course, that’s just a guess—it’s not always easy to tell.
I think the real issue is that he knows no relationship at Kingmakers would go anywhere, long-term. Especially if Ares plans to go back to Syros. The mafia daughters at our school are expected to make the most advantageous matches possible—which doesn’t include the eldest son of a family that lost all its former glory.
It’s unfortunate, but true. Ares is a realist, and so am I.
That doesn’t stop me feeling a thrill of pleasure when Miles joins us.
“Hey,” he growls in my ear, pushing his shock of dark curls back out of his eyes with his palm. “Hope you didn’t tire yourself out already.”
I can feel his warm breath on my bare shoulder, and the heat radiating out of his body. Pressed together on the dance floor, we’re closer than we’ve been since he carried me to the infirmary.
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not tired at all.”
“Good,” Miles says, his white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “Let’s get to dancing, then.”
He pulls a little remote out of his pocket and clicks it to change the song. Instantly the speakers switch to something slower and sexier, with a playful, insistent beat.
Miles pulls me into his arms, putting my hands around his neck and his large, warm hands on my hips. He easily pulls me into his rhythm, which is effortless and outrageously smooth.
I’ve never seen anyone move to music like Miles can. His body flows like he’s liquid under his clothes. He’s playful and creative, making me laugh as he mixes silly little flourishes into dancing that is, over all, extremely fucking sexy.
Despite Miles booting out anybody connected to Rocco, there’s still plenty of students here who could rat me out for dancing with him. Rocco is sure to hear about it, and so is my father.
But right now, in the center of all my friends, I feel a sense of security I’ve never felt before. I’m free to laugh and dance and enjoy the music, free like I’ve never been before in my life. Cat is right next to me, giggling as Hedeon spins her around and dips her low, almost knocking over Chay and Ozzy,who are dancing back-to-back so Chay doesn’t rub against his injured arm.
Miles flips through song after song, each one better than the one before. Ares gets us all another round of punch. We’re hot and sweaty and tipsy, but none of us wants to stop.
“What’s your favorite kind of music?” Miles asks me.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say. “I like all of this.”
“You like Latin dancing?”
“Sure. I mean, I learned it growing up.”
He swaps the song to “Señorita,” which isn’t strictly speaking a Latin song, but as he pulls me into an effortless salsa, I can’t help laughing.
“Why are you better at this than I am?” I demand.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Miles growls, his face very close to mine, my fingers wrapped up in his, our bodies pressed tight together. “I’d say nobody on this dance floor looks better than you.”
I don’t know if I was a good dancer before today, but Miles is bringing out the best in me. It’s so easy to match his rhythm, to follow his lead. The sensuality of his body seems to be drawing out the same thing in mine, so our feet move perfectly together, our hips, our thighs, every part of us entwined. I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m melting into him, dancing without thought or effort, just pure pleasure.
We dance for hours. I never get tired of it. I never want it to stop.
Anna and Leo, Chay and Ozzy, Hedeon and Cat, and poor Matteo all on his own, they come and go around us as they refresh their drinks or take a break to sit and chat on the dusty velvet couch in the corner.
Only Miles and I stay exactly where we are, completely wrapped up in each other, tireless and endlessly driven to keep dancing so this moment won’t end.
