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I’ll tell you when:

Anytime John Basilio speaks directly to me.

Anytime he teases me with his knowing smile.

Anytime he insinuates that he wants more.

A bouncer sits on a stool holding a rope in an open pavilionwhere clubbers wait in hopes they’ll get in. Reggae music drifts lazily through the open air.

“I’ll tell the bouncer who we are,” John says.

“I’m pretty sure they don’t watch hockey on the islands.”

John’s eyes narrow. “Baby, don’t underestimate me.”

Baby?

I lay my hands on his arms. “If it was a girl bouncer, you would have a better chance.” Then I give him a gentle push toward the bouncer. He stumbles at first, then straightens as he approaches the large, buff man. I look at Oakley. “He’s too cocky for his own good.”

“Maybe he has the goods.” Oakley elbows me, grinning ear to ear.

John shakes his head on the way back to us. “Are we in?” Corbin asks.

“There are no VIP areas available.”

“I want to dance, not sit around.” I make a beeline for the man guarding the door. Glancing at his name tag, I ask, “Abasi, can my friends and I just come in? We don’t need a VIP area.”

“Anything for you, lovely lady.” His deep voice and large body don’t match the warmth and easiness in his eyes. He’s a teddy bear.

“Have you ever heard of the Dallas Rattlers?” I ask, knowing he hasn’t.

“No, but it’s obvious he’s an athlete when he has someone like you on his arm.”

“You’re a smooth talker, Abasi.”

His mahogany skin warms with a pinch of pink in his cheeks. Abasi smiles, stands up, and waves to the rest of my party. He slaps green wristbands on us. “This will get you a cozy couch. Not VIP, but a good place to rest your feet and hydrate. Have fun, my lovely little lady.”

“Thank you.”

He opens the door, closing it behind us. We stride through anarrow tunnel-like walkway. Distant music thumps against the walls in the Coral Rhythm, and John’s hand presses against my back. This simple gesture has a swarm of bees buzzing in my stomach. Or maybe it’s the music. Yeah, I’ll go with that—it’s the music.

We weave through the crowd and make our way to the edge of the dance floor. Freestyle is the only way to describe the dancing that takes place inside this nightclub—feet shuffle, arms lift, and hands make shapes in the air.

The electricity crackles. The music drowns out the voices, even Oakley’s as she screams in excitement, turning to Corbin. Since they’re wrapped together, John slips his hand in mine, spinning me into him.

He’s looking down at me, but I close my eyes, letting the sound guide me. With every brush of his body against mine, my skin sizzles. Our hips and shoulders hit the hard beats. I feel so alive. Suddenly, John’s hands grab my hips and swivel me around with my back to his chest. He yells in my ear, but it’s more like a whisper, “Do you want to be bad tonight?”

Yes.

My weight melts into him before I realize that I can’t. My brother. His relationship with my brother. I straighten and say, “Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No, but thanks for the offer,” I say playfully while looking into his eyes that are dancing in amusement.

“I’ll wear you down, Bex.”

“You can try.”