I threw a glare over my shoulder. “Can you not say that in public please?”
“Don’t be ashamed, hermano. It happens to lots of guys.”
I shoved him, but we were both laughing.
When I looked back at Cammie, she seemed to know that my attention was waning. She leaned closer and reached a bold hand into the pocket of my jeans, and came back with my cell phone. Her smoky eyes met mine before she entered her number into my phone’s memory. I marked one thing off the night’s checklist without even really trying. I smiled politely at the blonde and said good-bye. I turned to Milo, preparing to brag about how easily I’d gotten her number.
My eyes caught on something else entirely.
One of the colored lights illuminated the pale, bare skin of another dancer’s stomach. She was wearing far less clothing than Sasha. She had on sheer, black tights and a short skirt. Her shirt was lacy and short, revealing a toned stomach inked with black lines. It took me a few moments to piece together the picture that the lines made, but when I did the electricity that had been missing with Cammie started rushing through my veins.
The lines were the roots of a tree.
And the girl was Max.
8
Max
Even though smoking was allowed only outside Trestle, there always seemed to be clouds of it inside the bar. Amber light fractured through the haze. That, combined with the drinking, laughing patrons below me made the whole night feel surreal. The music vibrated everything. I could feel the pulse of it in the platform below me, up through my heels, and into my legs.
As I danced I kept my eyes focused upward and away from the patrons. It wasn’t that I was ashamed. I wasn’t a stripper or anything. The dancers at Trestle were just for atmosphere. We stayed clothed. I think I wore less clothing than anyone, but that was because I split my shift between dancing and bartending, and the less clothing, the more tip.
But there was nothing more awkward than making eye contact with someone below. Sam was careful to keep the bar as pervert-free as possible, but the way we were framed up here on pedestals with soft glowing light could turn just about any guy into a creeper.
Normally I tried to lose myself in the music and just dance for me. It made the time go by faster. But tonight, my mind was so full of the day’s events that I just couldn’t seem to turn my brain off. I took two shots before my shift started to try to remedy the problem, but so far nothing had changed.
I took turns staring at various places on the wall and ceiling to pass the time. I caught Spencer’s eye over at his table in the corner. He smirked at me, waggled his eyebrows, and licked his lips.
I pretended to gag.
He shook his head and went back to scratching away at the lyrics in his journal.
This afternoon was forgotten . . . for now at least.
I smiled, swished my frilly skirt, and glanced at the front entrance as the door swung open. Another cloud of smoke rolled in through the door. Like he was stepping out of the fog, Cade appeared. My twenty-four-hour, pretend-we-met-in-a-library, mom-hugging, golden-boy-boyfriend.
He looked good.
Too good.
He laughed, and people stopped midconversation just to stare, like he was a celebrity. Dark hair tumbled down into his eyes, and he pushed it back. He had the kind of hair that just begged to be touched. He was with someone, a Hispanic guy, and he was smiling so big that his teeth were like little pearls in the dark room. He’d seemed like a pretty smiley guy when we met this morning, but only by seeing this smile in comparison did I realize how faked it had all been. He had these perfect dimples that softened the hard line of his jaw, and his eyes crinkled slightly. He laughed again, and I saw at least three girls maneuver closer to him.
One of the braver girls broke off from her friends, and stepped right up to him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and it was too dark to read their lips.
Not that I even knew how to read lips.
She looked exactly how I pictured his type of girl. Blond, perky, and nauseating.
The complete opposite of me.
In less than a minute, he charmed her the same way he charmed my parents. She was giggling and touching his arm, falling into him, all while curling her hair around her finger. I waited for him to move in for the kill, but he didn’t. They just kept talking and talking. She was clearly giving him the green light, and he was still chatting her up like an old lady in church.
Why wasn’t he taking what she was so clearly offering?
He started talking to his friend, ignoring the blonde. She gave the kind of pout that was obnoxious on anyone above the age of five.
I smiled.
Some of the tension in my shoulders loosened, and I danced a little easier. I told myself that the relief I felt was a by-product of those earlier shots kicking in and had nothing to do with the blond girl he was blowing off.
Then the girl reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. She was smug as she entered what I assumed was her number into his contacts, and I wanted to rip her stupid blond hair out. He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at his friend. The girl left, looking disappointed, and he didn’t even give her a second glance.
He was saying something to his friend when he paused. His eyes were cast in my direction, and I could almost feel the weight of his gaze as it trailed up my body. His face was stretched wide in a smile when our eyes met. He froze, and my movement faltered. I should have looked away, but something about his expression held me. It wasn’t lust. I knew that expression well. He looked at me . . . in awe.
He took a step in my direction, and my heart jumped in my chest. I was attracted to him . . . to a guy who was in a whole other playing field. And if I was honest, there was more than just desire thrumming through my chest.