Page 20 of Connectio

“Oh!”

That explains her fairy tale beauty. Apparently, the extremely good-looking gene is strong in Lucy and Bryce’s family.

Carly offers one of her shots to her. “Would you like a Slippery Nipple?”

Lucy blushes but then smiles and bites her tongue, and Will bursts into laughter. I’m at a loss as to what’s so funny. Maybe he’s just one of those immature guys who laughs at the stupidest things, like the word nipple. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Giving him a playful glare, Carly continues talking to Lucy. “I’d offer you the Cum Shot, but apparently, you’re not into that.”

“No, I’m not. I’ll take a Slippery Nipple over a Cum Shot any day.”

I’m so confused.

“Fuck, this conversation is hot.” Will leans against the concrete pylon next to our booth then takes another swig of his cocktail. He swallows then pulls a face similar to a cat’s bum. I almost laugh—serves him right if his Red-Headed Leg Spreader is as revolting as my Maneater.

“William,” Lucy says, “when are you going to grow up?” She pats his shoulder condescendingly. “So I’m a lesbian. Big deal.”

Ohhh! Okay. I feel a little less out of the loop now.

He smirks and blows her a kiss.

I roll my eyes at his lack of decorum and decide to remove myself from his presence. I don’t know why he bothers me so much, but he does. “I’m going to dance. Brooke, Sal, you comin’?”

Sal looks at her drink with an expression of sorrow then puts it down. I do the same—sans the sorrow—and we snake our way through the crowd to an open spot on the dance floor, soon finding ourselves in instant hell.

Sweaty bodies. Unfamiliar sweaty bodies. Everywhere. All encroaching my personal space. There’s nothing worse. One guy even has the audacity to place his sweaty hands on my hips.

“Hey!” I swipe them away and move back, ready for fight or flight, when he’s suddenly yanked away.

Relief floods me for a second when Will stands in his place, and I’m about to thank him, when he has the audacity to place his hands on my hips too.

I look at them—huge bear-like paws on my silk dress—then look back up at him. “Do you mind?”

He chuckles. “So you’d rather dance with that guy?”

Placing my hands over his, I pry them from my body. “I’d rather dance with my friends.”

Turning my back to him, I present my cold shoulder, which heats when his beard tickles the skin at my neck, his breath warm against my ear as he murmurs, “Can I be your friend, Labia? I’d really like to be your friend.”

His hands once again snake onto my hips, and for a split second, I want them to stay there… until sense slaps me across the cheek and I spin to face him, our eyes locked, our faces mere centimetres apart. He’s leaning down, his gigantic frame dwarfing me and creating a shield from anyone else standing close.

Strangely enough, I feel safe but… claustrophobic.

“No, you cannot be my friend!” I shove him again. “And my name is not Labia!”

Not knowing what else to do, I growl and storm away.

* * *

The next coupleof hours are spent hiding from and avoiding Will. He’s like a sniffer dog, and I’m the cocaine. Every time the girls and I change levels, he’s not far behind. I even have to slip into the ladies’ toilet just to throw him off his scent. I don’t know why, but he doesn’t seem to understand I’m not interested in his company. I’m sure he’s nice, somewhere underneath his offensive tongue, and I mean no offense—or maybe I do—but I’m just over stupid men and their stupid games.

Rounding the corner after leaving the toilet, I stop in my tracks when he pushes off from the wall and takes a step toward me.

“Don’t come any closer,” I say, holding my hand out like a stop sign.

My palm slams into his rock-hard chest, and I stumble backward, my shoulders hitting the passage wall behind me, his arms caging me in.

“What are you doing?” I ask, barely able to breathe.