Page 20 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

girls who wear glasses

Talia

This is a disaster. I feel stupid, all dressed up in Parker’s slutty clothes.

I’ve never been a good dancer. My limbs always felt too long, too out of control. I never learned to move my body the right way and besides, this house music is crazy. People who can dance look stupid out there, so I know I would just up the idiot-quotient by a gajillion points.

Also, I’ve been hit on three times and all three guys made opening comments about girls who wear glasses. Ugh. Get original, dudes.

Parker comes off the dance floor with a huge smile on her face. She’s a natural beauty, tall and lithe. As an actual dancer, she puts everyone to shame on the dance floor, but her beauty doesn’t hurt either. She’s got sleek, dark blonde hair, high cheekbones, perfect lips.

“You’re all cute over here, looking like a total hottie, and I’ve seen you turn away three decent-looking dudes. How are you supposed to meet anyone if you refuse to talk to people?”

“I feel like an imposter,” I say with a shrug. “Plus, all those dudes used basically the same line on me.”

“Girls who wear glasses?”

“Ugh, yes.”

“Lame. Well, the guy I was dancing with was totally hot. I guess he does sound and stuff? for the big acts who come in for concerts.”

“Sounds like an interesting job.” I try to sound engaged but I couldn’t care less to be honest.

“I mean, it’s hard to talk with the music blaring. He could really move.” Parker fans herself and looks around, a big smile on her face.

“Well, you should go find him, then. Talk to him, Parker.”

“What about you?”

“I’d rather just go home and order a pizza.”

“What a party pooper.”

“But when have you ever known me to be otherwise?”

“Well,” she says, a sly grin on her face, “you can go if you want, but there’s a big, hot-looking dude over there who’s been eyeballing you for quite some time. I think he might be disappointed to see you leave.”

I look and my heart does a little bounce inside my chest. It’s Boris. I catch his eye but he looks down. If the lighting was better, I’d swear he was blushing.

Still, I’m really glad to see a familiar face. “That’s my hockey client!”

“Well no wonder you’re crushing on your puck-money dude. Holy hell, he’s the freaking poster boy for hot athletes.”

I laugh at her name for Boris. “That’s hilarious, Parker. Puck-money dude. I guess it’s a pretty accurate descriptor though. Should I go say hi to him?”

“Yes, yes, you should.” Her tone is salacious. “I’m gonna go find my hot dancing hunk, too. Text me if you leave.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll do the same.”

She gives me a hug before slinking off toward the bar.

Me? I put one foot in front of the other and take the few steps over to Boris because I’m fatalistic like that and gravitate toward awkward situations like the nerd I was born.

At this point in my life I’ve just given up and owned it. I’m never going to be any different.

“Hey.” Yes, you just sounded as painfully embarrassed as you’re thinking you did.

“Hey, yourself. I saw you earlier.” Smooth as silk. No awkwardness at all coming off of him. How? How does he do it?

“Earlier?”

“I mean, I thought I might talk to you earlier.” He clears his throat and rubs his hand over his stubbled chin. Which, by the way, yum.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was upstairs, and you were downstairs.”

“Well, I suppose that would make it hard to talk.”

A silence settles between us as I mull over the fact Boris must have been watching me from the balcony.

“I also did not want it to seem weird,” he blurts unexpectedly. “I’m your client and you’re out on your free time.”

“It’s not like you planned to talk business, though, right?”

“I suppose not.” He shrugs a shoulder and takes a sip of his beer.

“So, you did plan to talk business?

“No.” Only the music fills the space between us for another minute. “I saw you kick a few guys to the curb.”

So he was watching me for quite some time. Interesting. Does that mean he was too nervous to come over to say hi? I shouldn’t overanalyze it, right?

“I was…they weren’t my type, I guess? I mean, I wasn’t interested.”

“Did they ask you to dance?”

“They, um, used bad pickup lines. I didn’t let them get far enough to ask me to dance. Also, I mean, I’m not really a very good dancer anyway, so…”

“That doesn’t matter. If you’d like, we could…”

“I don’t really know how,” I say, giving what I think is an apologetic look. “I’ll look like an idiot.”

“Everyone looks stupid when they dance.” Boris gives me a cute, dimpled, lopsided grin. “I’m big. I can shield you from view.” He holds out a hand. “Come on, dance with me.”

“I can’t promise I won’t step on your toes or embarrass you.”

“I am not easily embarrassed, Talia.”

I look up and am struck by the stark gorgeousness of a hard-stubbled jawline, and the soft lips, and the liquid brown eyes that look exactly like melted chocolate.

It does beg the question… Where are the hordes of women who I know would love to be hanging from his muscular frame right now?

In this club—where hookups are negotiated (or occurring) every minute of every hour this place is open for business.

Did he send them away because he’s into men instead?

If so, he’s probably in the wrong club tonight.

But I’ve never felt that vibe from Boris even slightly, so if he is gay, I’m way off base.

Anyway, I might never get the chance to dance with a guy this beautiful ever again.

And besides all the hotness he has going on, he’s also sweet.

A gentleman. This will be nice. Or, as nice as me dancing will ever get, I suppose.

“Okay.” I still feel reluctant, but I put my hand into his anyway, allowing him to lead me out onto the dance floor.

We find a spot along the wall and, as promised, Boris stands with his back to the crowd, acting as a shield to give me an illusion of privacy.

I start to move, trying to loosen up and get my limbs under control.

Boris can keep a beat. I suppose all that skating is often like a dance of sorts, so I’m not surprised he can move.

He gives me that little lopsided grin of his and a thumbs-up.

I lift my shoulders and cringe.

“Just close your eyes and feel the beat,” he says over the music.

I take a deep breath in through my nose and give a short nod.

Closing my eyes, it takes a minute to get past the worry that people might be looking at me.

Eventually, though, I catch the beat, my body moving.

I just let go, then, lost in the sound. I dip and sway, and when I open my eyes, Boris is staring at me, his eyes dark and intense.

Holy ever—loving hell, he is sex on legs. Does he even know?

I feel emboldened by the expression on his face, for some reason, so I drape an arm over one of his shoulders.

Suddenly, our bodies are moving together, his hand on my hip.

His knee is between my legs as we move, and I can’t stop thinking about how I wish it was his hand between my legs.

Our eyes are locked and there is an odd energy connecting us, moving us.

I’ve never felt so…sensual before. In tune. Alive.

We stay like that for what seems like forever, my free hand moving to his solid chest. The man feels like a stone sculpture. Christ. What must all those muscles look like under that white, button-down shirt?

My heart beats frantically in my chest. I’m sweating and thirsty, but I just want to keep touching this man.

Still, he’s a client and I made a rule. This needs to stop.

As the song ends, I back away. “I’m hungry,” I announce. “And thirsty.”

Boris backs off, nodding. He looks away and I think he’s blushing again. “Do you want to get a bite?”

“Let me tell my friend. I’ll meet you outside?”

Boris nods again and shoves his hands in his pockets. I’m pretty sure he stands right there where I left him, watching me walk away, but I’m too scared to turn around and find out.