Page 94 of Cross Check

The guard I put up lowers half a degree. I allow myself to acknowledge the increasingly obvious fact that Grant is hot as hell, and out of everyone in the room, he’s looking at me.

Reckless.

Sitting with him like this is reckless, but he’s a magnet I can’t pull away from.

“Thank you.” I take a second to admire his jeans and the plain black T-shirt stretching over his chest. “So do you, but I would’ve preferred a crop top.”

His laugh is rich and smooth, a sound I hold close when Maverick and Emmy bring our drinks back to the table. Grant takes his whiskey then scoots the gin and tonic my way.

“Cheers, everyone,” he says. “To a good break and a successful last part of the season.”

The four of us trade stories, and our first round turns into a second. People come by our table to say hello, and introductions are tossed around. An hour into our night, Maverick and Emmy disappear, leaving the two of us alone again.

“Are you a dancer?” Grant asks.

“God no.” I throw back the last of my drink. “I have coordination on the ice, but on a dance floor? Absolutely not.”

“Okay.” He finishes his whiskey and stands, offering me his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Dance.”

“What?” I burst out laughing. “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“You think anyone’s going to be able to tell you have two left feet? It’s dark as shit in here.”

“I will dance for one song, but that’s it.”

“Great, because they just put on ‘Twist and Shout,’ and this is an easy one.”

Our fingers intertwine as I follow him through the crowd. There’s a moment of panic that someone will call us out for standing so close, but everyone we pass seems to be bordering on severely inebriated. My own inhibitions are lowered, and I put a hand on his arm when we find a spot in the corner.

“What kind of music do you like?” I ask over the song.

“I’m not picky.” Grant sways back and forth. “But I don’t like country.”

“Heavy metal?”

“Obviously. I love screaming my way through a minor inconvenience.”

“You’re funny,” I say with a smile. “And I don’t find many people funny.”

“A badge I’ll wear with honor.” He keeps hold of my hand, lifting my arm above my head so I can spin around. “When do you fly home?”

“In the morning. We see each other in March, right?”

“In Denver, yeah. Only five weeks away.”

“Are you going to wear your crop top?”

“Will you wear your jewelry?” Grant reaches out, playing with the links of my silver necklace. The brush of his knuckles against my skin, featherlight. The promise that it could be more. I’m hot all over. “Please?”

“Yeah,” I whisper, inching closer to him. He smells so nice and feels so warm. “But only because I like when people ask for things nicely.”

“I’ve always had very good manners. My momma raised me right,” he rasps, voice cloaked with a drink too many.

Desire rips through me. I want to kiss him, to touch him. It’s the first time I’ve ever had these thoughts, the only time I’ve ever let my mind wander so dangerously. Pressed against a wall. His hand under my skirt, and I blame it on the alcohol. My thoughts are too muddled to know right from wrong. The last rational part of my brain is telling me I need to leave before I do something I’m going to regret.