Dean #2
Emboldened, Steve amps up the crowd by flicking a wrist upward to the beat of the music, the muscles in his calves striating like hell as he clings to the slick pole for dear life.
When the jeers in the room pick up even more, he yanks the fabric off of his chest, flinging his shirt into the distance and tilting his head.
And then he fucking flagpoles. Holy shit, I’m torn between appreciating how the guy looks and being jealous of his immense core strength—he makes it look so easy, and he’s got the killer abs to show for it.
“Hold on, I’m gonna show you all what I can do!” he calls out, eliciting even more cheers from everyone. Slowly, he bends his waist and rotates his body before speeding up, giving a new adoring section of the room a better view of himself.
This guy definitely thinks he’s hot shit, but if it emboldens him to do a strip show, I won’t complain.
He’s really getting into it now, straightening his body and making me wonder how his arms haven’t given out yet. His back is turned to us, and I realize too late that he’s bending at the waist again.
Which puts an unsuspecting Nick in the firing line of Steve’s unwieldy legs.
“Watch it, fuckface!” Nick yells after getting socked in the head, chuckling and tossing his empty cup at Steve’s ass.
“I’ll give you a lap dance to make up for it,” Steve replies, his voice straining. Blood is pooling in his face as he stays horizontal, his arms are shaking, and—oh, shit.
He drops to the floor with a thud.
A bunch of people swarm the pole, pushing past our group and almost knocking Nick to the floor. He’s rubbing his forehead, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face.
Something between frustration and…fear? Nerves?
Whatever it is, the vibes here are not great.
“It’s really fucking loud!” Nick yells. “Do you wanna head somewhere quieter?”
My stomach flips with excitement. Is he initiating?
I flick my eyes over to Claire, who’s found some of her teammates and is slamming shots with them in a circle. We lock eyes, I point at myself and then to the exit, and she replies with a thumbs up.
Returning my focus to Nick, I nod. “Yeah, I’m down.”
He motions for me to follow him, and we weave through the mass of sweaty bodies toward the back of the house, my shoes sticking to the alcohol-dampened floors.
As soon as we leave the main room, my ears ring in the relative quiet, and Nick keeps leading me down the dark corridor, his wide back and that gorgeous ass staying front and center in my field of vision.
If this goes the way I think it will, I’m gonna be digging my fingers into all that muscle, and I can’t wait. No matter where I look, I’m either losing sight of Nick and getting lost, or forced to drink in everything his backside has to offer.
Toward the end of the hallway, he hangs right and rams a creaky door open with his shoulder, holding it open for me as I step into the fluorescent-lit room.
It’s almost empty, with only a dark brown couch pressed against the wall and a coffee table right in front.
The windows are frosted, and once I finish taking everything in, my heart skips a beat.
This has gotta be a hookup room.
Nick brought me to a hookup room.
“Yo, this is awesome,” I say, sinking down into the couch. I push my hair back and out of my face before slinging my arms across the back and hoping Nick joins me.
He stays frozen against the closed door, shifting from one foot to the other.
Time to ramp it up, I guess.
I shoot him a smile and pat the space next to me. “Come here.”
He obliges, settling down and giving me a small grin, which makes my core clench with affection.
Guys who are hot and cute shouldn’t be allowed on account of being dangerously irresistible.
Then if you add a generous sprinkle of endearing-as-fuck, you get someone like Nick.
When it comes to having a type, I’m not picky.
Still, a sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and a hot body always speak to me.
“God, yeah, this is so much better,” he says. He leans back, and the couch sags, pressing the two of us together in the center.
It takes every last bit of my self-control to hold back from swinging an arm around Nick’s shoulders and pulling him even closer, but the mere brush of his forearm against mine is enough to make my head spin with need.
It’s almost ridiculous how much of an effect this guy has on me—I can’t remember the last time I got this boned-up from so little. It could be the killer combo of him being hot as fuck while also not getting all pervy on me.
Restraint is sexy, even if it’s hard for me to demonstrate.
I flick my eyes down, and he’s resting his hand on his thigh. Feeling bold, I mirror him before nudging my leg over so it’s touching his. This room is too damp for static electricity, so the spark surging into me through our jeans has got to be something else.
“Sheesh, I’m tired,” I murmur as a distraction.
He chuckles, and, centimeter by centimeter, I sneak my hand closer to his. The move I’m making is so much more subtle than anything I’ve pulled before, but I hope it works, and I hope I’m not totally misreading the whole situation.
He gulps. “So, uh, are you excited for the break?”
I shrug and take the opportunity to close the distance even more. “Kind of. I’m not going anywhere.”
The second our pinky fingers brush, my breath catches in my throat. He jerks his head up, and we lock gazes.