Page 12 of Shattered On Ice

I suck down an impossibly choked breath and sit on my shaking hands. Play it cool, you absolute weirdo, I chide myself. It’s not like I’ve even talked to Westin outside of the two encounters we’ve had in a group of people. There’s nothing that can happen between us. I’m here with my brother. It would be incredibly unwise to even consider the idea.

So why can't I stop myself?

“Drinks have arrived!” Nico yells, holding an ice bucket with a bottle of liquor. He’s followed into the VIP area by a shirtless server wearing purple hot pants and gold suspenders, carrying a tray of shot glasses, mixers, and a bowl of limes. The server bends at the waist when he sets the tray down on the low table, his ass cheeks falling out of his hot pants as he lines up the shot glasses. Campbell sets out the lowball glasses, filling them with Coke, as the server takes the ice bucket from Nico with a flirty smile before he artfully pours the line of tequila shots.

My stomach squeezes in anticipation, knowing I’ll be forced to take shots with them. I really hate tequila.

“To a great first season, and an even better second!” Ryder says, passing out shots.

I take mine with two fingers, holding the lime that Knox solicitously hands out in his wake. Well, here goes nothing. I clink glasses with the rest of them and toss back the shot, shudder, breathe, and suck the lime to rid myself of the sting.

Nico is already pouring round two when my eyes blink open. Oh, so it’s going to be like that.

“Fuck those guys!” Campbell says, as our toast for this round.

They all shout it back, shots raised. I belatedly raise my own and grimace. All this to fit in with my brother's friends. It burns going down.

I wave off the third shot, taking a glass of Coke to chase the burn that’s radiating into my limbs. “Two is good for me.” I point at the dance floor. “I want to dance." I look around at the massive men assembled in our VIP area. "I thought tonight was about making an appearance out there. Are you guys going to sit here taking shots all night instead of dancing?” I ask, hoping to avoid anyone pressuring me into another shot. My throat is on fire, and my stomach is warming rapidly.

A chorus of exclamations goes up around me in protest at the accusation.

“We’re going to dance, we just need social lubrication,” Nico says with a shrug.

“Exactly. Can’t be down there dancing in a group of men we know are checking us out without a little fortification,” Campbell adds, surprising me. I imagined he would be the most homophobic of the group, but that was unexpectedly invested in the activity.

I shake my head and laugh. I check in with Rook with a quick look. His smile is easy, and he’s leaning back in his seat, knees splayed apart casually, looking as comfortable in this gay club as anywhere else I’ve seen him. He waves his hand toward the ceiling, shooing me away.

“I’m ready to dance,” Knox says next to me. He looks at Ryder and shoots him a teasing smile. “You gonna show these boys how it’s done, Reckless, or are you gonna stay up in this booth and let me off the leash to dance with those beautiful men down there?”

Ryder’s face grows stormy at the mention of Knox dancing with someone else. “The hell you will. If you want to dance, you're dancing with me, Big Sexy. Let’s fucking go, boys. We gotta show them we can hang or they’ll laugh us out of here.”

With his typical bravado and resolution, he bounces up and pulls the rest of the team with him, leading the way to the dance floor as Knox laughs knowingly.

“That’s how you get them to do anything. Tell them you’ll do it without them and see how long it takes them to lose their minds. They're competitive as fuck," Knox confides as we bring up the rear.

He pats my shoulder and lets Ryder grab his hand, pulling him into the crush of bodies writhing on the dance floor. I look around as I wade into the crowd, eyeing up those around me.

A beautiful man with shimmery face makeup and wavy blond hair catches my eye as he sways to the music in a purple see-through blouse with ruffles at his wrists and black shorts that show off his lean, muscular legs that end in knee-high black leather boots. He’s gorgeous and delicate, yet still masculine, which is a hell of a combination given the ruffles and makeup. His freedom of expression draws me to him more than his ethereal beauty, and he makes room for me beside him without complaint. I feel my cheeks heat as I sway and move, hyperaware of every movement and how I’m not nearly as fluid or comfortable in my dancing as it seems everyone around me is.

“Let go of whatever it is you’re thinking and just feel,” the man says, leaning into my ear and holding my shoulder to still me long enough to hear him. “It’s not a competition. Just enjoy yourself.”

I glance his way and see his eyes on my face, a bemused smile quirking his glossed lips as I gape, then blink hard to rid myself of any outward signs of distress. “I’m trying.”

“Nice to meet you, Trying. I’m Callum,” he says with a Southern drawl that is lazy and sweet despite being loud enough to hear over the pounding music. He squeezes my arm and slides his hand down to grip my fingers once in reassurance.

I let out a breathless chuckle. “Actually, my name is Knight. With a K.” I squeeze back before he lets go.

“That’s an exciting name. Embrace that excitement and let it guide you here.” He taps my chest above my heart with two fingers before twirling in front of me in a pirouette befitting a ballerina.

With the warmth of tequila lighting up my insides, and a glittering fairy godbrother spinning around me, I close my eyes and feel the music like Callum said. It’s a club remix of “No Broke Boys” by Tinashe and makes me smile. I have a version of this on my running playlist, so I know it well. It gets me through hill repeats and long runs without fail. Maybe it can get me through my self-consciousness now.

Callum spins back against me, stilling for a moment. “Just so you know, you’re not really my type, but I love a dance partner and new friends. So no expectations, okay?” he asks.

I laugh in relief at his openness and the release of any expectations. “More than okay with me. I need friends and someone to dance with. I feel like I’m stuck in peanut butter and don't fit in at all. I’m really in my head.”

His hands glide from my shoulders, down my arms, until his fingers lace with mine, and they’re raised above my head. Callum twists his hips, shoulders swaying, eyes closed as he dances, leading me with the gentle insistence through the hold he has on my hands. I follow, finding the rhythm he’s set more easily with my hands in his.

“Way better, right?” he asks.