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He finally breaks the kiss and stares down at me, panting, a flush on his cheeks. He’s diamond hard where he’s pressed to me, the heat of his erection leaking through his jeans and my dress to mark my skin.
Holy crap…
The reality of what I’ve just done hits me square in the chest. Oh God. I kissed Seth. Kissed him, and let him kiss me—and get me off—in his bathroom, while Fred is somewhere else, thinking I’m at the party, talking and having harmless fun.
“I have to go,” I say, my voice barely making it past my lips. He’s still cradling my head, his leg is still between mine. I can still smell his delicious scent, still feel every inch of his body. “Seth.”
He blinks as if waking from a dream. Then his eyes narrow, his mouth flattens, and I can almost hear the shields dropping back into place with a clank, the defenses descending over his face, hiding any emotion he might feel.
“Of course you do,” he mutters and pulls away, turns his back to me. “Hell. Hope I helped with your question.”
I stare at the beautiful ink decorating the flare of his ribs, the line of his spine, the wings of his shoulder blades, and Jesus, what do I do now?
“Yes,” I croak, feeling ashamed and more confused than ever. “Thank you.”
&n
bsp; I don’t know if he answers back, because this time I flee as if the devil’s at my heels.
***
“Physical therapy, huh?” Cassie’s reaction is much milder than Fred’s and makes me feel a little bit better about myself. “Why not?”
“Won’t you tell me I should stick to the arts? That I have to fight for dance?”
She shrugs. “It’s your life. Do you want to fight?”
Good question. “I want to keep dancing,” I say truthfully. “Can’t imagine life without dance.”
“Can you dance on the side?”
“Maybe? Depends on how much time I’ll have for it, I guess. I could also give classes to pay for college, at least partly. Pilates, ballet, belly dancing, modern dance.”
She gives me a faint smile. “You were always so full of energy. You make me feel old with everything you’re about to do.”
I sit back and take a good look at her. She looks terrible, thinner, with bags under eyes a bit too bright. Even worse: she’s dressed as if she’s heading for the gym—not something Cassie might do—in a café, for chrissakes.
So out of character.
“You okay, Cass?”
She stares into her mug of tea. “Been better.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing new.” She takes a sip and before I press her for a real answer, she says, “So I heard you left Saturday night's party with Seth?”
Oh crap. Stifling a groan, I lean back in my chair. “Who told you that?”
“Ha, gotcha.” A real smile this time. “You did, just now.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Devious.”
“I’m a bitch, I know.” She sniffs. “Everyone knows.”
“Hey…” I shouldn’t feel bad. She earned that title, and yet I’m pretty sure that’s why she’s like this. Like she’s really depressed. Sinking.
“So did you have wild sex in your car? In the stairwell? On his sofa? In the shower?”
