Page 29 of From Coast to Coast
We order a couple of drinks from the bartender who gives Grayson a very appreciative once-over, which is wastedwhen he doesn’t even notice. Leaning an elbow on the bar top and keeping my body turned toward Grayson, I can see at least two other guys behind him checking him out. When one of them starts walking toward us, I take a step closer to Grayson and put my hand back on his arm. The guy turns around and goes back to his friend, leaving me feeling a little badly. It had been automatic—staking my claim on him even though he’s not mine in any sense of the word.
So, take your hand off of him, Remy. I snatch my hand away and reach for my drink instead, not even remembering what I’d ordered. It doesn’t matter. As long as there is alcohol in here, I’ll be okay. Grayson surveys me over his own glass, which is just plain soda water. Funny how I can remember that just fine.
“You good?” he asks, leaning so close to me that his breath coasts over my ear. It’s loud in here—I can barely hear the words over the noise from the dance floor.
“Yeah. Are you sure you don’t want to dance?” I’m desperately hoping he’ll change his mind. Suddenly, the idea of wading through all those bodies by myself seems daunting.
“Is it okay if I just watch?” He closes his eyes as soon as the words leave his mouth as though he’s wishing for them to disappear back down his throat. “I just meant, is it okay if I sit this one out? I’ll just hang out here.”
Well, I’m certainly not going to force the man to dance. I smile and try not to betray my nerves. Throwing back my drink, I blink away a grimace. Yep, definitely alcohol in that.Grayson looks between the glass and my face, blue eyes widening. Seriously, blue eyes and black hair—how is that even genetically possible?
“You good?” he repeats. I nod.
“I’m going in.” I nod toward the dance floor and his eyes track over the writhing mass of bodies.
“Better you than me,” he replies, raising his glass in a salute and settling in against the bar. “Go have fun. I’ll be here when you need refreshment.”
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I step away from the bar and toward the dance floor. Zolkov still hasn’t returned with his date, and I have little hope that I’ll see him again tonight.You’re on your own, Stone.
It’s been a while since I’ve frequented a club and I’ve never been to one outside of California, but a club is a club. The moment I walk into the mass of dancing bodies, I’m swallowed up—hemmed in on all sides by grinding men and women. Mostly men. Mostly half-naked, sweaty men. I turn back around but I can no longer pick out Grayson’s tall form from here.You’re here to dance,I remind myself, after I’ve been standing motionless in the center of the dance floor for an embarrassing amount of time.
Closing my eyes, I listen to the song. I’m honestly not a bad dancer. Don’t ask me to do a tango or a salsa, but I can hold my own in a place like this. Even though I don’t recognize the song and I’m alone, it’s not long before I relax enough to move with the music. I keep my eyes closed for now, just trying to enjoy the beat.
Hands land on my hips. Big hands—hands that definitely belong to a man. I keep dancing and keep my eyes closed as someone leans in close enough to me that I can feel their chest brushing my back. Stubble scratches across my ear and my blood heats at the contact.Grayson.
“Hi,” a scratchy, male voice says into my ear.Not Grayson.
Ice water dumped over my head wouldn’t have cooled me off faster. I don’t pull away from the man, but it’s close.My movement falters enough that he notices. Chuckling, he presses closer and tightens his grip, one arm sliding around my stomach.
“You here alone?”
“Mm,” I agree, and it’s apparently enough of an answer because he grinds against me a little more forcefully. If the voice hadn’t clued me in, his body would have: hard and unmistakably male, but too slim to be Grayson.
The song changes and so do we, automatically adjusting the roll of our hips to the new beat. He’s not touching me in any overtly sexual way and seems content to keep doing what we’re doing for the time being. Opening my eyes, I look down at the hand splayed across my stomach: long fingers, pale skin, and blond arm hair.Definitely not Grayson.
We dance together for the next couple of songs, and with each minute that passes, my stomach sinks a little closer to my toes. This isn’t sexy at all. I might as well be dancing alone for all my body reacts to the presence of the man behind me. He, on the other hand, is definitely enjoying himself. There is a very unmistakable erection pressed against my ass, and as much as I try to encourage my dick to take notice, it stays dormant.
The guy I’m dancing with leans forward, hand sliding up my stomach and pulling me backward into him. Thinking he’s going to say something, I tip my head back to put my ear closer to his mouth so that I can hear him over the thumping bass. Instead of speaking, he takes this as an invitation to swoop down and press his mouth to my neck. I flinch at the contact and immediately pull away.
“Sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in front of him in a conciliatory manner, as though he expects me to throw apunch. My hand is on my neck, fingers covering the spot he kissed. I drop it down to my side.
“No worries,” I tell him.
Somebody bumps into my back, pushing me forward a couple of steps. My dance partner has already gone, melting back into the crowd to find someone else. I look around, trying to see over the heads of the dancers. Somebody touches my arm and I yank it away immediately. I’m suddenly disoriented, unable to figure out which way leads to the bar or the front door. Hell, I’d take the nearest wall at this point, because at least I could follow it until I found an exit.
I start pushing through the crowd as a spike of anxiety unfurls in my chest.Has the fucking ceiling always been that low?A young guy careens into me, knocking me sideways and I barely pause to mumble an apology before I’m pushing forward again. I need to get out of here. I need space tobreathe.
By the time I make it to the edge of the dance floor, I am covered in sweat and about five seconds away from a panic attack. It doesn’t feel any less crowded out here, and if anything, the walls feel closer. I know they aren’t moving—I fuckingknow—but I also know this room was a lot bigger an hour ago than it is now. I need to get outside.
Blindly choosing a direction, I start walking only to be stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. Like before, I immediately try to shake it off. Unlike before, whomever is touching me doesn’t let go. I turn around.
Grayson. Oh, thank god, it’s Grayson.
“Remy?” he yells, leaning in and trying to be heard over the music.
“Outside,” I yell back, because explaining the slowlyshrinking room will take too long and we need to leave fuckingnow. “I need to go outside.”
Instead of answering, he uses his grip on my shoulder to steer me around. I’m wholly reliant on him as he forcefully guides me through the room. The club is busy and the going is slow. At one point I close my eyes and just trust Grayson to not let me run into anything. When we finally reach a door with a glowing EXIT sign above it, I’m so relieved I could cry. Grayson reaches his free hand out, pushes open the exit, and together we walk outside.