Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (49)

“Are you a dancer?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

Dylan’s cagey response makes my eyes narrow, but then he pulls me into him. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Making your boyfriend realize he’s an idiot for not dancing with you.”

I glance over my shoulder, watching Elias, who sits at the table now, eyes zeroing in on both of us. It’s a heated look aimed right at Dylan, who appears totally unaffected. I ignore him too, because if he cared that much, he should be the one over here. Not the one rejecting me twice in a night.

“He doesn’t care.”

He gives me a look like he thinks I’m stupid. “Yeah, ’cause that’s definitely the look of a man who doesn’t care.” Dylan spins me and dips me in his arms, and I adjust to his tempo, laughing as he dances like a natural. Sometimes, my ass.

The heated glare on my back gets hotter. Elias has gotten on his feet, and Dylan lets me go immediately. By the time Elias reaches me, Dylan’s disappeared, and I’m standing there like a fish out of water.

“If you want to dance, ask me next time.”

I look down at our feet. White heels and pointy brown dress shoes. “I doubt there’ll be a next time,” I say, though my words are slurred. The alcohol is still thrumming in my bloodstream. Summer really should have cut me off.

His expression flattens, and I immediately feel bad. I’m not a mean person, but the lingering hurt from his earlier words make the darkness lurking behind my ribs visible. I want to apologize, but I can’t. Not when it’s true.

“Ready to go?”

Summer bumps into Elias, holding up a strict finger. “Stop being a killjoy. We’re still dancing.” She pulls me into her, and I bite back a laugh. Elias looks to Aiden, who just shrugs.





TWENTY-ONE


ELIAS




“YOUR GIRLFRIEND DOESN’T like you very much,” Summer says.

When Aiden went to his hotel room because I insisted on bringing the girls, I didn’t think it would be like this. The four of them—the girls, Dylan, and Kian—danced until there was barely anybody left. The DJ wanted to go home too.

Somehow, we left and dropped Sage off to the room first, and now I’m walking Summer to hers.

I know, I’m a coward.

But in my defense, Sage didn’t want to be alone with me either, and I’d much rather have her sleep off her drunkenness than have her say something that makes me question everything. I told her that I’m celibate, and I think that calls for some space.

“She’s not my girlfriend. It’s fake,” I remind her, though telling drunk Summer anything logical never registers.

“Shh! You’re going to blow your whole cover.” She looks around the empty hallway. “Are you sleeping in her room?”

“What—no.” I specifically requested two rooms, but I would have slept in the lobby if I had to.

Coward.

She halts in the middle of the hallway. “You don’t think someone might think that’s suspicious? You can’t trust the concierge, you know that firsthand,” she says. “Do you seriously not know the first rule of fake relationships?”

Though she does have a point, I raise a skeptical brow. “And you do?”

“Have you seen my bookshelf ?” she says matter-of-factly. “After handing me off to that annoying guy I call my boyfriend, go to her room. Trust me.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Good. It should be very inappropriate.” Summer shoots me a terrible wink.

I try to ignore her suggestion because that’s exactly what I shouldn’t want.

Aiden opens the door before I can knock. “It’s two in the morning. It took you this long to get them off the dance floor?” He’s scanning Summer from head to toe, as if I’d ever let anything happen to her.

“Your girlfriend isn’t a very agreeable drunk.”

“Hey! Yours isn’t either,” Summer shoots back before falling into Aiden’s open arms.

Aiden smiles down at her. “You’re so drunk, babe.”

“I’m as sober as ever. I’ll blow on something to prove it.”

And that’s my cue to leave.

“Think about what I said!” Summer whispers loudly before the door closes, and I make my way down the hall. Despite my not wanting them to, her words circle my thoughts like a noose.

Going to Sage’s room at this hour is a bad idea.

But what if she’s so drunk she needs someone to take care of her?

Jesus, am I seriously considering advice from a plastered Summer? There would never be a situation where going to Sage’s room would be beneficial for either of us. Especially because I haven’t been able to get the image of her sitting on that counter out of my head.

It’s been four years and I’ve never felt like this. The desperate, aching need to feel her sweat-damp body slide against mine. The thought feels dangerous. But the look on her face after I told her I’m celibate pops the lustful bubble.

Somehow, I come to stand right in front of her room, and when my fist hits the door, I know I’ve already lost whatever self-control I may have relied on.

A few minutes pass before an irritated Sage answers. “What?”