of college kids who are looking to get hammered.
Their third round is ‘Sex on the Beach.’ The alcohol is definitely having the desired effect—they’re laughing at the most ridiculous things.
“Come on, let’s dance,” Chris says, grabbing Ian’s hand and pulling him from the bar.
Ian turns back to me, a grin on his face. “You don’t mind?”
I wave him on. “Go. Have fun. Don’t mind me.”
Ian pulls free of his friend and comes right up to me. By now, I’ve managed to grab a vacant barstool, and I’m sitting with my back to the bar.
Ian steps between my knees and clutches my thighs. He leans in close. “I want to kiss you right now, because you’re so sweet,” he says, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “But I know you don’t like PDA, so I won’t.”
I return his grin, tempted to call his bluff and kiss him instead. Part of me wants to stake my claim on him, right now, right here. I’ve noticed men eyeing him since we arrived, and I can’t say I blame them. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“Deal!”
And then Chris grabs Ian and pulls him away from me. The three of them head to the dance floor to dance to a Cher remix.
As I watch Ian dance, I’m amazed by his lack of inhibition. He throws himself into the dancing, his movements sharp and precise. On the dance floor, at least, he exudes confidence.
He’s come so far from the abused toddler he once was. I wonder if his mother is still alive. I wonder if she grieves for the son she lost, or if she had any other children. When I asked Ian if his mother was still alive, he said he didn’t know. I don’t think he wants to know. He could have easily tracked her down if he did.
The Cher remix quickly morphs into a Beyoncé remix. Ian’s at the center of attention, again. Several other guys have joined their little party. Ian’s laughing, clearly enjoying himself, but every once in a while his gaze returns to me, latching onto me as if I’m his security blanket. As if he’s making sure I’m still here. That I haven’t left him.
Damn. It’s hard to imagine that this outgoing, confident guy is also unsure and insecure.
He locks gazes with me, and I can see the heat in his eyes.
When he crooks his finger at me, inviting me to join him on the dance floor, I shake my head and laugh. “Not going to happen, pal.”
Ian breaks away from his entourage and rejoins me at the bar. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling. “Just one dance? Please?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Sorry. I have two left feet.”
He reaches for my glass and takes a swig, then makes a disgusted face. “Oh, God, that’s nasty!”
“It’s club soda,” I say, laughing at his pained expression.
He flags down a bartender. “Can I get a water, please? Just plain water.” And while he’s waiting for his water, he leans close enough to whisper in my ear. “I might be a little bit drunk.”
As he wavers a bit, I reach out to steady him, my hands on his waist. “You think? You’ve had three shots.”
He traces my brow with his index finger. “Then it’s a good thing I have my own designated driver.”
“Yes, it is.” I bite back a grin. I love Ian’s playful side. Maybe it’s true that opposites attract. I’m pretty reserved, and he’s anything but. I actually admire how fearless he can sometimes be.
The bartender hands him a bottle of spring water, and Ian chugs half of it before setting the bottle down next to my glass. He leans close and whispers in my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine. “I’m going back out on the dance floor. Try not to miss me, detective.”
My hands slide down to his hips. “No promises, but I’ll try.”
His gaze burns into mine, and I know he’s fighting the urge to kiss me.
I catch his gaze. “Ian?”
He sways a little drunkenly. “Yeah?”
“When we get home, I’m going to fuck you.”
His eyes widen in slow motion, heat building, and I can’t resist smiling at him. But then Chris is there, pulling Ian back toward the dance floor. Reluctantly, I release him and watch him go.
As I sit here nursing my club soda, watching Ian on the dance floor, I realize I’m sinking deeper and deeper into an infatuation with his guy. I have no idea