Chapter 5 #4
It was approximately the least sexy thing I’d ever done.
My brother Beale had been trying to get me to do yoga for years, but I hadn’t practiced nearly enough.
When John lifted me back up, though, our whole bodies were aligned from chest to pelvis, and some random dude yelled, “Get a room!” which in my drunken brain meant I was winning.
At least, I thought that until I looked over and saw that Knox and Teagan had nearly stopped moving.
Knox’s hand was on Teagan’s waist, Teagan’s hands were fisted on Knox’s shoulders, and their cheeks were pressed together.
And whatever Knox was whispering made Teagan’s eyes slide shut as he bit his lip.
Shit. I felt nauseous. All the euphoria and competitiveness I’d felt drained out of me, leaving me empty. I moved and swayed, but I couldn’t even feel the rhythm. Knox was going to kiss him. Knox was…
Suddenly, John let go of me. “Sorry, Gage, but I’ve gotta—” He broke off with a shake of his head, then reached over and grabbed Teagan’s wrist where it rested on Knox’s shoulder.
“T, can I speak to you please? Right now? Outside?”
Teagan’s eyes opened, and for a second it looked like he was going to refuse, but then he looked away and nodded almost imperceptibly. Knox gave him a wink and let him go.
For a moment we just stood there, Knox and me, not dancing, not talking, just staring at each other. His green eyes were stormy. Wary.
And even though I knew for a fact that it was stupid—ridiculous, pathetic, hopeless, and maybe legit uncool since he’d said he wasn’t interested—I took a step toward him and slowly brought my hand up to his cheek, ghosting my fingers over the softness of his beard.
I waited for him to push me away. To step back.
For his eyes to shutter as he shut me down.
I knew I was risking my job and our tentative almost-friendship for a solitary moment of connection.
But if this was how it all ended, how my all-consuming crush went down in flames for the final time, at least I was going out in a blaze of glory, and I was okay with that.
Except… he didn’t step back.
In fact, he stepped forward. Right into my space. Right into my embrace. And he settled both hands on my hips like he’d been waiting all night—or maybe even longer—to do just that.
I leaned back a little so we could maintain eye contact and lifted my other hand to his face also.
Knox lifted one eyebrow.
“What? I like the beard,” I whispered defensively, stroking his face with my fingers. And there was no way he could have heard me over the music, but his fingers tightened on my hips, and he pulled me in closer anyway.
He trailed a hand up my arm to grab my wrist and move it back so I was clutching his neck. He spun me around in a quarter turn, and suddenly we were dancing again, the two of us like a tiny, perfect island in a sea of bodies.
Unlike with John, though, there was nothing platonic about this dancing. My cock was hard even before Knox widened his stance and pulled me against his thigh. And when I felt his erection—a very proportionately sized erection, which was to say huge—I couldn’t help but moan.
He wanted me. He un-misinterpret-ably wanted me.
Yes, fucking yes, I thought, and I only realized I’d said it out loud when Knox’s eyes flared and his hand dipped from my hip to the upper curve of my ass.
I undulated my body against his, breathing in his air.
His natural scent was overlaid with the faintest tinge of Scotch and sweat and maybe smoke, all of which should have been off-putting but was not.
I wanted to climb him like a tree. I wanted to fuck him hard and imprint myself on his brain. I wanted to sit on his…
My thoughts short-circuited as Knox bent his head just the tiniest bit and his lips hovered over mine, so close that his beard tickled my chin. So close that I could feel every particle of air between us buzzing with the electricity we generated together.
Knox was going to kiss me. Knox Sunday was for real going to kiss me. And if I never won another thing in my entire damn life, at least I’d have this.
His mouth touched mine, and my stomach swooped. His tongue darted out to trace the seam of my lips, and I shivered convulsively.
Then Knox blinked and pulled back. “You taste like lime,” he growled.
“Yeah. Gin and tonic.” I grinned up at him, but he frowned. Did he have a problem with citrus fruits?
He pulled back just slightly, though his arms remained around me. “How many gin and tonics?”
What? He wanted to talk about this now? “Um… four. No, five? I’m pretty sure. Plus a couple at the hotel, but that was ages ago. Why?”
He closed his eyes and pressed our foreheads together. “Seven drinks.” He groaned just a little. “Goodman, what am I going to do with you?”
There were a million answers to that question. A billion. And if Knox had the time, I had the stamina and organizational skills to make sure we did every single one of them.
But before I could express that, my stomach did a funny kind of dance move of its own, and my head spun in a way that had nothing to do with Knox’s closeness. “Knox, I think… I maybe don’t feel so great?”
“No shit.” Knox snorted and wrapped an arm around my waist. “Let’s get you home.”