Page 8
Story: Petty AF
“I really can’t dance.”
“Everyone can dance.”
I had a TikTok account, so I could say with confidence that his statement was misleading at best. Could I stand in one spot and sway back and forth? Sure. I wouldn’t call that dancing, though.
Yet I didn’t pull away. Maybe because he could be infuriatingly persuasive. Maybe because the alcohol had dulled any sense of self-preservation and good judgment. Whatever the reason, I didn’t try to stop him as we wove through the throng of partygoers to the middle of the dance floor.
Once he’d found a semi-empty space, he turned to face me, his smile equal parts charm and trouble.
“Just follow me,” he said, his voice low and coaxing as he wrapped a muscled arm around my waist.
I swallowed hard, keenly aware of how little space existed between us. This hadn’t been part of the plan, and it damn sure didn’t feel like a paid service. When someone bumped me from behind, he pulled me closer, holding me tightly to his chest so that I felt every hard ridge of him pressed against me.
This close, with his face cast in prisms of light from the chandeliers, I realized his irises weren’t black or even dark brown, but a deep shade of green with flecks of amber near the pupils. And right then, he had those penetrating eyes locked on me, gleaming in a way that promised all sorts of sinful things.
He began to sway, and with our bodies pressed so closely together, I had no choice but to follow, my heart pounding in time with the music. Fuck, he was so warm, so virile, and the scent wafting off him had me seriously debating why inviting him back to my place would be a bad idea.
I had met a lot of people in both my personal and professional life, and I had felt instant physical attraction on more than one occasion. Never had I experienced such an intense and visceral reaction to someone, though.
Deeper than just surface-level temptation, I felt a magnetic connection to this man, a pull that had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Nothing about it felt safe or familiar, but that didn’t seem to matter. In fact, it only made me want him more.
“What are we doing?” I asked. The answer scared me, but I had to know if this only went one way.
“We’re dancing.” Calm. Steady. Maddeningly unhelpful. Then his hand slid up my back and beneath my hair to settle on my nape. “For now.”
I exhaled sharply, my head spinning with relief and confusion. “So, it’s not just me?”
“No, River.” My name on his lips wrapped around me like a caress, hitting harder than it had any right to. “It’s not just you.”
“Deaton Horne,” came a deep, unpleasant voice from behind me. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
I stiffened, and a shiver rippled through me at the vocal equivalent of being doused in cold water. At the same time, I felt a twinge of irritation, not just at the rudeness of the interruption, but at the condescension dripping from the asshole’s tone.
Deaton, however, didn’t flinch. Maintaining a passive expression, he repositioned me so that I stood next to him, but he kept me pressed to his side with an arm around my waist.
“River, this is Joss Weller, the Warlock Regent of Circle City.”
He said that last part as if it should mean something to me. It didn’t. While it sounded impressive, I didn’t know what a Warlock Regent actually did, if anything.
And as far as first impressions went, he made a fairly underwhelming one.
Standing a couple of inches shorter than Deaton with a lean build and honey-blond hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders, I would consider the intruder conventionally attractive. Beyond that, I didn’t have anything else positive to say about him.
The stark white suit did nothing for his pale complexion, and the floral kimono draped over it was just confusing. Both of which could have been forgiven if not for the disdainful smirk on his lips.
I hadn’t come to make waves, though, and more importantly, I didn’t want to put Deaton in an awkward position since he clearly knew the guy. So, I rearranged my expression into something I hoped appeared pleasant and offered my hand.
“River Brighton. It’s nice to meet you.”
A voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like my mother scolded me for lying. Then again, she would also be the one to remind me that two wrongs didn’t make a right. And maybe something about birds in a bush. Or in her hand? Whatever. Birds had definitely been involved.
Joss glanced down at my hand, but he didn’t take it, making the situation uncomfortable for everyone. Score one for him.
Curling my fingers against my palm, I dropped my arm back to my side and braced myself for whatever verbal diarrhea spewed from his mouth next. I had been unfortunate enough to meettoo many people like him in my life—bullies who had decided to make their insecurities everyone else’s problem—to think it would end there.
“A human, Deaton? Really?”
He said it with a strange mixture of indulgence and disdain, like I was a cute puppy but definitely not allowed on the furniture. I also couldn’t tell if he had been aiming to offend me or my date, but as far as insults went, it felt kind of weak.
“Everyone can dance.”
I had a TikTok account, so I could say with confidence that his statement was misleading at best. Could I stand in one spot and sway back and forth? Sure. I wouldn’t call that dancing, though.
Yet I didn’t pull away. Maybe because he could be infuriatingly persuasive. Maybe because the alcohol had dulled any sense of self-preservation and good judgment. Whatever the reason, I didn’t try to stop him as we wove through the throng of partygoers to the middle of the dance floor.
Once he’d found a semi-empty space, he turned to face me, his smile equal parts charm and trouble.
“Just follow me,” he said, his voice low and coaxing as he wrapped a muscled arm around my waist.
I swallowed hard, keenly aware of how little space existed between us. This hadn’t been part of the plan, and it damn sure didn’t feel like a paid service. When someone bumped me from behind, he pulled me closer, holding me tightly to his chest so that I felt every hard ridge of him pressed against me.
This close, with his face cast in prisms of light from the chandeliers, I realized his irises weren’t black or even dark brown, but a deep shade of green with flecks of amber near the pupils. And right then, he had those penetrating eyes locked on me, gleaming in a way that promised all sorts of sinful things.
He began to sway, and with our bodies pressed so closely together, I had no choice but to follow, my heart pounding in time with the music. Fuck, he was so warm, so virile, and the scent wafting off him had me seriously debating why inviting him back to my place would be a bad idea.
I had met a lot of people in both my personal and professional life, and I had felt instant physical attraction on more than one occasion. Never had I experienced such an intense and visceral reaction to someone, though.
Deeper than just surface-level temptation, I felt a magnetic connection to this man, a pull that had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Nothing about it felt safe or familiar, but that didn’t seem to matter. In fact, it only made me want him more.
“What are we doing?” I asked. The answer scared me, but I had to know if this only went one way.
“We’re dancing.” Calm. Steady. Maddeningly unhelpful. Then his hand slid up my back and beneath my hair to settle on my nape. “For now.”
I exhaled sharply, my head spinning with relief and confusion. “So, it’s not just me?”
“No, River.” My name on his lips wrapped around me like a caress, hitting harder than it had any right to. “It’s not just you.”
“Deaton Horne,” came a deep, unpleasant voice from behind me. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
I stiffened, and a shiver rippled through me at the vocal equivalent of being doused in cold water. At the same time, I felt a twinge of irritation, not just at the rudeness of the interruption, but at the condescension dripping from the asshole’s tone.
Deaton, however, didn’t flinch. Maintaining a passive expression, he repositioned me so that I stood next to him, but he kept me pressed to his side with an arm around my waist.
“River, this is Joss Weller, the Warlock Regent of Circle City.”
He said that last part as if it should mean something to me. It didn’t. While it sounded impressive, I didn’t know what a Warlock Regent actually did, if anything.
And as far as first impressions went, he made a fairly underwhelming one.
Standing a couple of inches shorter than Deaton with a lean build and honey-blond hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders, I would consider the intruder conventionally attractive. Beyond that, I didn’t have anything else positive to say about him.
The stark white suit did nothing for his pale complexion, and the floral kimono draped over it was just confusing. Both of which could have been forgiven if not for the disdainful smirk on his lips.
I hadn’t come to make waves, though, and more importantly, I didn’t want to put Deaton in an awkward position since he clearly knew the guy. So, I rearranged my expression into something I hoped appeared pleasant and offered my hand.
“River Brighton. It’s nice to meet you.”
A voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like my mother scolded me for lying. Then again, she would also be the one to remind me that two wrongs didn’t make a right. And maybe something about birds in a bush. Or in her hand? Whatever. Birds had definitely been involved.
Joss glanced down at my hand, but he didn’t take it, making the situation uncomfortable for everyone. Score one for him.
Curling my fingers against my palm, I dropped my arm back to my side and braced myself for whatever verbal diarrhea spewed from his mouth next. I had been unfortunate enough to meettoo many people like him in my life—bullies who had decided to make their insecurities everyone else’s problem—to think it would end there.
“A human, Deaton? Really?”
He said it with a strange mixture of indulgence and disdain, like I was a cute puppy but definitely not allowed on the furniture. I also couldn’t tell if he had been aiming to offend me or my date, but as far as insults went, it felt kind of weak.