Filthy Vows - Alessandra Torre Page 0,7
direction it had disappeared, then looked back at me. I stretched, letting my back bend over the lip of the chair, then stood, gathering my books.
“Have a good night,” I whispered and gave him an innocent smile. Taking my time, I meandered slowly around the edge of the bookshelves. As soon as I cleared the corner and out of his sight, I started to run away.
The club. The guy before me was straight South Florida, all spiked gel hair and that hey mama game that worked great on Delta Gammas but fell flat on me. I glanced over his shoulder, searching the crowd for Lizzy, who was my summer stand-in for Chelsea. A little taller, a lot sweeter, but without the crude honesty I’d grown to love in my slutty best friend.
“It’s fate, us meeting again.” The Miami boy leaned against the high top, his pelvis trapping me against my stool. “The gym and now here?”
That wasn’t fate. This club was the only place to be on a Tuesday night, and half the campus had a workout addiction. I could turn in a circle and point out ten people I’d seen in the gym in the last week. The only person I hadn’t seen—not that I’d been looking—was Easton, thanks to the private gym that campus athletes used. Either way, I was two weeks out from our late-night library encounter and had avoided him thus far.
“I know,” I managed a smile. “Crazy.”
“What’s your major?” His eyes bored into mine, and it wasn’t terrible to have the attention, even if it was unoriginal in nature. If what’s your sign? was the pickup line of the 90’s, what’s your major was the standard go-to when two students had shit in common.
“Philosophy.”
He nodded as if my response meant something. Hell, I was three years in, and I didn’t really know what a degree in Philosophy prepared anyone for. It didn’t matter. Undergrad was a skipping stone I had to jump in order to get to law school, and communications, according to my advisor, was my best shot at a class rank and GPA that would impress the law school admissions board.
“You?” I lifted the heavy wave of hair off my back and fanned my face.
“Real Estate.” He flashed a grin at me, as if I should be impressed. “My family is in development. You know Clearingworth?”
I stared at him blankly and he scoffed, then recovered. “It’s seriously the biggest retirement community in Boyton. It’s got over—”
He said more, but I didn’t hear it. I saw his animated movements, felt the heat of him as he leaned closer, yelling to be heard over the music. I felt his hand settle on my hip but ignored it all as I focused in on Easton.
His head was bobbing to the music, his attention on the woman before him. I glanced briefly at the blonde, then back at him, catching his profile as he lifted his drink, then held the cup out of her way.
“It’s legit. I can show it to you.” His diamond stud earring moved left and blocked my view. I didn’t even know this guy’s name.
“Let’s dance.” I clamped my hand around his wrist and dragged him toward the floor, ignoring his protests as I set up shop a few couples over from Easton.
“Whoa, mamacita.” He sipped his drink with the tiny straw and pulled me closer, pinning me against his body. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I knew what I was doing when I started to dance with him. His hand slid down the back of my dress and gripped my ass and I let him. His tongue, cold from the drink, dipped into my mouth. I pulled back and his fingers tightened, pulling me into his pelvis and I dared a glance over one shoulder and found Easton in the crowd, his eyes on me. For once, there wasn’t an ounce of playfulness in their depths.
I escaped from my Latin lover halfway into the next song and squeezed through the crowd, heading for the dim hall that led to the bathrooms. Just before the break of bodies, a hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me right and into an empty nook, just behind the stage speakers.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Easton was close, pushing me back against the wall, his voice a growl in my ear, his body flush against mine.
“What?” I gave a half-hearted attempt to push against his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Is that what you like?” His hands