Page 46 of Devious Obsession
“You think you can handle him?”
I snort, focusing on Miles again. “Me? Handle Steele? Does anyonehandlehim?”
He raises his brow. “Not since this summer.”
I stop short. Is he saying what Ithinkhe’s saying?
“What do you m—”
“Miles!” Jess, from the dance team, rushes out and grabs his hand.
She, along with ninety-nine percent of the girls in here, is decked out in blue and white. Or silver. I can’t figure out if people substitute the actual school color, which is silver, with white because it’s too hard to find? Or pure laziness?
“Dance with me!” she demands.
He focuses on her and doesn’t spare me another glance. Which is fine, because I’m still fucking puzzled by what he insinuated about Steele.
Someone stops beside me, and I look up at Greyson Devereux. He must’ve stopped dancing with Violet when Miles was pouring my beer, and she’s nowhere to be found. He gives me angry-boy vibes. Like some deep instinct is shouting,Danger! Danger!He’s like Steele in that regard, I think, but more on edge.
Maybe it’s because Violet isn’t with him. Those two fit together better than any couple I’ve ever met.
“Congrats,” I say to him, because I don’t know what else to say. He scored the winning goal, after all.
“Thanks. So, what’s up with your mom and his dad?”
“What?” My heart all but jumps into my throat. Cutting right to the heart of the matter, is he?
He glances at me. “I think you heard me.”
“Um…” I shift away from him. “My mom likes spontaneous things.”
Only a little bit of a lie. She likes a lot of things, being foolishly spontaneous is just one of them.
“And she found Steele’s father…?”
He probably wants to know where. Or how. If only I had that information—or was willing to share it. As it is, I’d rather not. So I settle on, “It appears that way.”
I spot Steele through the dancing crowd in the living room. He’s across the room, leaning against the wall. And even though bodies come between us, somehow his gaze is steadfast on me.
“Excuse me,” I say to Greyson, feigning politeness. I don’t want to be polite. I’d like to just ignore him entirely. But he’s friends with Steele, so it’s the least I can do to be nice. My mom didn’t raise an asshole, after all. Unlike Steele’s dad.
I join Willow on the dance floor. She’s got moves, but she snags my hand when I try to backpedal. She grins at me, tipping her head back and looking at me through half-lidded eyes. The fine baby hairs that frame her face are stuck to her skin with sweat. Her hands go to my hips, and she guides my movement.
“Like this,” she yells in my ear.
I close my eyes and forget my fears. Forget that I’m probably being judged by a lot of people right now. But no one comes up and tries to grind into my ass. No one touches me except Willow… until her hand is replaced with another, larger one.
The hand slips from my waist to my stomach, and they pull me backward. Until I hit a chest that I know without even opening my eyes.
How’s that?
I tip my head back, resting it on Steele’s shoulder. I crack my eyes and confirm what I already know. ItisSteele. His arm bands around me, and his knees bend until his thighs are against mine. He’s touching me from my shoulders to my knees, and he takes over the dance. Slowing my motion until we’re in sync.
He brushes my hair over my shoulder and leans down, pressing his lips to my bare skin just over the collar of his jersey.
I reach back and loop my arms around his neck, pushing a little more forcefully with my ass into his groin. When his teeth skim the crook of my neck and shoulder, I smile.
Do I like him?
