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After a few minutes of dancing and laughing, a hand gripped my hip. I turned to see Jake. He didn’t even look at me as he shifted us away from the group. I tried to step away from him but hardly gained any distance before his arm wrapped the rest of the way around my waist.

As much as I wanted to pretend he didn’t exist, it was impossible to with his arm around me.

“Uhh, what’s up?” I asked when it became obvious he wasn’t going to say anything.

Shifting my hair off my neck and onto my shoulder, Jake leaned close to my ear. “The way you were movin’? You want that kinda attention, get it some other time.”

It was the shorts thing all over. At his work? Alright, I got that.

At a rock concert in a bar, though?

Yeah, I didn’t get it.

I didn’t get it so much that I wasn’t just upset.

I was pissed.

Quickly twisting my body, I hoped to jerk out of his grasp.

I half succeeded.

I managed to turn around to face Jake, but his arm stayed tight around me.

If he weren’t such a giant asshole, I might have enjoyed having his body pressed against mine. Right now, though, a well-aimed punch to the junk seems like a better idea…

“What the hell are you talking about?” I yelled, both because the music was loud and I was losing my temper.

“You were attractin’ attention.”

“What kind of attention, exactly?”

“The kind that involves every guy gettin’ a hard dick watchin’ you move. Thinkin’ about you movin’ like that with them. Naked. You’re a fuckin’ wet dream.”

It wasn’t the most flowery compliment I’d received, but it stole some of the wind from my bitch sails until I remembered what an ass he was.

“That’s on them, not me. Why should I let what people think bother me? I was just having a good time and dancing.”

“You wanna dance, have at it. Just do it back here, yeah?”

“No, I’m good,” I snapped, tired of him telling me what to do.

I’d worked hard to not let people’s opinions get me down like they used to. Normally, I would keep doing what I wanted. However, it was his friend’s bar and, technically, I wasn’t even supposed to be there. It wasn’t worth ruining my night by getting upset.

Yet, at least.

I spun around to get free, but Jake wrapped his other arm around my chest.

I was torn. Half of me wanted to follow through with the junk punch. I was pretty sure I could position myself correctly to get a good hit.

The other half of me, though, was thinking maybe akickto the junk with my heel would be more effective.

Unable to decide, I went with verbal insults.

“You’re kind of an ass.”

“No kinda about it, babe,” he said, close to my ear.

What good are insults if he just agrees with me?