14. Felix
FELIX
Two hours of sitting at The Hideout, eating and drinking, shooting the shit with my buddies, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Dahlia.
When Brogan asked where she was (the fourth person in an hour) it hit me how in such a short time people have gotten used to her being with me when I go out.
It’s like when I was with Bethany. If I was somewhere without her, people would wonder why.
Except in Dahlia’s case, I think they’re asking because they like her.
Nobody really liked Bethany. Maybe to gawk at, but it wasn’t the same.
My teammates actually like being around Dahlia.
I didn’t realize how nice it would be to have a girl that fits in with all the other people in my life so well.
And I guess as I sat there with my buddies, I realized how much I wanted her there too.
I screwed up Saturday, hitting that guy and almost kissing her, so I don’t expect that she’s going to want to go to another party with me without a lot of groveling on my part.
“After Saturday night, I guess I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to go.
I’m really sorry.” I scan her work. A poster with images and fabrics glued to it, and what I think are a pair of pants lying on the table in front of her.
I’ve never been in this building before.
I didn’t even know where it was. I had to ask Violet when I stopped by their house.
I assumed that’s where Dahlia really was.
“I’m not hiding out or avoiding the world. I really had a lot to do.”
I nod and lean against one of the black tables that surround the classroom. “I see that.”
My stare lands back on the black fabric in front of her. She’s resting one hand on the material and standing partially in front of it, like maybe she doesn’t want me to see. “What are you working on?”
“Oh, uh.” She turns and steps an inch back to give me a better view. “A pair of pants. They’re for Eddie. Or, well, it’s just a mockup.”
“You got the job. That’s amazing.” Warmth spreads through my chest.
“Thank you.” She tucks a strand of hair behind one ear and ducks her head slightly.
“Congrats. I knew you would.”
“Well, he’s giving me an opportunity. There’s no guarantee that he’ll wear anything I make.”
“He will.” I smile at her when she finally looks up timidly. “I know it.”
“So, why again did you track me down?”
“I feel bad about Saturday. Let me make it up to you.”
“You don’t need to feel bad. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I failed. I don’t like failing.”
She laughs lightly. “You don’t control the whole world.”
“Real bummer, I know.”
“How do you want to make it up to me?” she asks.
“I heard Sigma is having after hours. I need my girlfriend with me.”
She glances down at her cut-off jean shorts and sneakers. Today’s shoes are another pair of Jordans—these look older though, a little more worn than the pair she had on that night at The Hideout. “I can’t. I’m a mess.”
“You look great.”
She shoots me a look of disagreement, but I think I have her convinced, until she frowns. “And I really should finish this. I told Eddie I’d send him photos by the weekend.”
“It’s only ten-thirty, the party won’t start for a bit. How much longer until you’re done?”
“I don’t know. An hour, maybe. I need to do some finishing touches and then beg Robby to try them on for me.”
“Robby?”
She looks over her shoulder to a guy sitting at a table on the other side of the room. I hadn’t even seen him.
“Well, I could swing back by and pick you up when you’re done?”
Dahlia looks at Robby again and then me, chewing on the corner of her lip. “I have another idea.”
“Oh no.” I hold my hands up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please? You’re about Eddie’s height and build, and it’ll get us out of here quicker.”
I hold back a groan, but then she gives me this wide-eyed, hopeful look, and I know I’m going to do it.
“Fine, but we are closing down that party tonight.”
“How late is that?” she asks, then shakes her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m willing to suffer for my art.”
I huff a laugh. “Going to a party with me is suffering?”
“I don’t do well without sleep.”
“What time is your first class tomorrow?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll have you home by three.”
She groans.
“Two-thirty.”
She still doesn’t look pleased.
“Two. Final offer.”
“Deal.” She beams. She points to a partition in the back of the room. “You can change there.”
“Never had to do someone a favor to get them to party with me before,” I say as I head back there.
“Just lose the jeans. You can keep your shirt on.”
Shaking my head, I go behind the short screen and drop my jeans. I can see over it and I watch Dahlia work at her station while I do. She’s got this frantic energy about her when she’s really into something.
“I think you just wanted an excuse to see me mostly naked,” I say, walking back to stand in front of her in just my boxer briefs and T-shirt.
I’m comfortable with my body. Years of sharing a locker room with dozens of guys, most with no qualms about walking around totally nude, has made sure of that.
But there’s an excited thrum coursing through me as her gaze rakes over me.
“I was going to bring you the pants.” Her face is red, and she won’t meet my eyes as she hands them to me.
I chuckle. “That makes more sense.”
Flustered, she’s quick to say, “It’s no big deal. I’ve worked with male models before. Be careful. There are still pins at the bottom.”
I carefully pull on the pants. She watches my every movement. She’s hesitant at first to touch me. Her hands come forward and then she pulls them back. She walks around me to check the fit, I guess. Seconds tick by and she doesn’t say anything.
Finally, she brings her fingers to the front of the pants where a button would go.
She holds the material together and then runs her other hand down my thigh.
Every muscle contracts on reflex and my dick twitches.
A hot girl is touching the front of my pants.
She’s basically undressing me. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s the opposite but tell that to the dirty fantasies flashing through my brain.
“Eddie is a little bigger than you,” she says.
“Way to ruin the moment,” I mutter under my breath. That killed any movement south.
“I mean taller. What are you, six-two?”
“And a half.” That half inch seems super important right now.
“How do they feel?” She’s standing so close, fingers still brushing my skin as she holds the material together at my waist.
“Good.” I clear my throat. “They feel good.”
“Okay, hold still.” She leans around me to get something from the desk behind me and her boobs press into my chest as she does.
Aaaand, we’re back in business. I wonder how these pants are going to look and feel with an erection.
If it were anyone but Dahlia, I’d be convinced she was fucking with me or doing it on purpose.
But I know that isn’t the case. She’s so unassuming, so naive in a lot of ways.
The other night she had no idea when people were checking her out or being a little too friendly.
I could tell. Usually when a girl notices a guy giving her attention, she alters her behavior.
A little more hair touching, more smiling and dainty laughs.
But Dahlia didn’t do any of that. She has no idea, and that turns me on so freaking much.
I’m in a haze of lust-filled thoughts when she squats down in front of me, her face eye level with my crotch. Jesus fucking Christ.
I wonder if she’ll be honored or horrified when my dick is tenting these pants. Before it fully inflates, she works a safety pin through the front of the pants and stands.
“Okay.” She smiles at me so innocently. “Walk around in them. I want to see how they look while you move.”
“Walk around? Just walk?”
“Sashay, prance, whatever floats your boat, Walters.” She crosses her arms over her chest and amusement twinkles in her eyes. “And lift up your T-shirt a little bit. Eddie likes his shirts tighter than the one you’re wearing.”
“Now I know you’re fucking with me.” But I do it.
“Good. Walk the length of the room. Eddie uses the entire stage when he performs. He moves around and dances. I need to see what the pants look like in those scenarios.”
I do as she asks and start walking slowly away from the table. “You into this guy?”
“Eddie Dillon?” She laughs.
“Just saying, you know an awful lot about him.”
“It’s my job.” She follows behind me, eyes on my ass. “Can you stop there and move in place a little?”
“Uhh…” Still holding the hem of my T-shirt up with one hand, I absently run my other hand through my hair.
Suddenly EDM music starts playing in the room. Robby wears a mischievous grin as he watches along with Dahlia. “Show us what you got, Walters.”
“This is not the kind of stuff Eddie Dillon sings. Even I know that.”
Robby moves to the beat likes he’s up in the club. He struts toward Dahlia and takes her hand. I expect her to hesitate or wave him off, so imagine my surprise when she starts to dance alongside him.
Neither of them are even looking at me for a few seconds as they get into a rhythm dancing together. Dahlia looks up at me first then breaks away from Robby, facing me and silently encouraging me.
“I don’t dance,” I say.
“Just humor me.”
Cursing myself for agreeing to this and not just going to the party by myself, I shuffle side to side.
Dahlia’s smile is immediate. “Good. Try some things like jumping, raising your hands over your head, lunging.”
“Lunging?”
“I’m going through a mental list of all the things Eddie does on stage.”
I lift my hands over my head. Then jump. “He lunges?”
“You know, like this,” she says as she holds onto a pretend microphone and lunges forward on one leg, like she’s crooning for an audience.
“Oh no, I think it’s more like this.” I do my own take, adding in a fist pump.
She hasn’t stopped dancing and now we’re standing close.
“You’re not bad.”
“It’s my secret talent. Eight years of dance class.”
“I can picture you in a sexy little leotard.”
She rolls her eyes and then does some sort of spin that sends her hair flying around her shoulders.
I close the space between us, and she startles, while nearly colliding with my chest. She hesitates for only a beat before dancing with me the way she did Robby. He’s a way better dancer than I am, but it’s just the closeness I’m craving.
Her face tilts up and our eyes lock. She holds my stare. Our bodies are millimeters apart. I place a hand at her hip and because I’m greedy, glide my thumb along the band of her shorts and let it slip just under so that I’m touching bare skin. “I have a secret talent too.”
“I don’t think it’s a secret.” Her voice is breathy.
It takes everything in me to pull away from her. I give her a playful wink as I force my feet back. “Not that.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll show you sometime,” I say, then raise my hands at my sides. “Did you get what you needed?”