Page 9 of I Could Be Yours (The Toronto Terror #6)

His air of cocky confidence has dissipated, and for a moment I almost feel bad.

Almost . But then I consider the way he’s tried to upstage me tonight with his surprise fun games and his cool prizes.

He’s also underestimated me multiple times, and made me feel like an annoyance every time I ask for assistance.

So when he gives me an imploring look, I just cock a brow and nod to the limbo stick. It’s time for comeuppance.

Resigned, he moves into position, bends backwards at the waist, and edges forward.

His knees make it under, and so do his thighs, but the problem in his shorts isn’t deflating despite the growing crowd of onlookers and high potential for embarrassment.

He attempts to drop his hips so his problem clears the bar, but that sets him off-balance.

His special parts skim the stick. Someone snaps a picture.

He lands on his back in the sand and jabs an angry finger in my direction. “You cheated!”

I bat my lashes and offer him a hand. “How could I possibly have cheated?”

He rolls to his feet, fires the double bird at me, and stalks toward the dock, where he dives gracefully into the water.

I pass under the stick with no problem, but the high of my win is slightly dampened since my challenger is cooling off in the lake.

“Seriously, Ess, the right side of my bed is yours tonight, if you want it,” Flip offers.

Rix tweaks his nipple. “Stop hitting on my best friend! She does not want to hook up with you!”

“Ow! Where the hell did you come from?” Flip rubs his chest. “And I’m just playing.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you, though?”

He holds up both his hands. “Ninety-percent playing and ten-percent hopeful.” He winks at me.

Rix rolls her eyes and grabs my hand. “Come on. I need your help with the music!”

“Are you having fun?” I ask as we weave through the crowd.

“So much fun! I’ve had a lot of prosecco, though, so there’s a good chance tomorrow will be rough. Also, can I just say I’m glad Tristan booked us our own little cabin because I’m liable to let him do filthy things to me when I’m in this state.”

I laugh. “You’re always willing to let him do filthy things to you.”

She bites her lip. “This is true.”

We pull up the playlist and connect the laptop to the sound system, adjusting the volume so the neighbors don’t totally hate us. But they’re also all invited, so we’re not too worried.

I don’t bother to put my shirt back on. It’s a hot summer night, and the energy in the air turns frenetic and sensual as more people join us.

Tristan and Rix start grinding, and people begin to pair off, as often happens when music and too much booze are combined. I spot Nate at the edge of the action. He’s changed his clothes, now wearing a black T-shirt and shorts. His gaze shifts to me and darkens as I move through the crowd.

He tucks a hand in his pocket when I reach him.

“No hard feelings about limbo.” I adjust my bikini top.

He follows the movement with his eyes. “You do that on purpose.”

“Do what on purpose?”

“Draw attention to yourself. Become a distraction. Make me…” His nostrils flare.

“Make you what?” I tip my head. I’ve heard this before.

I’m always a distraction. I’ve been one my entire life.

As a child I was the cutest kid in the room.

My university degree was funded by all the flyer advertisements I posed for.

As a teenager I was envied and hated by most of my peers, except Rix.

Now at least I have the Babe Brigade—thanks once again to Rix—who love me as I am.

But my role has been set for me by society without my permission.

I’m used to the attention, but it doesn’t mean I always want or like it. I asked for it tonight, though.

“Nothing. Never mind.”

I roll my eyes and step into the shoes I always wear. “Lighten up, Nathan. This is a party. You’re supposed to be having fun. Let loose. Come on.” I grab his wrist and tug.

He doesn’t budge.

“I’m not trying to get you to date me, Nate.” He’s brilliant and broody and beautiful. My personal kryptonite. “Put your black cloud away and relax for a minute. Tristan has looked over here fifteen times in as many minutes because he’s worried. At least pretend you’re having a good time.”

He sighs and lets me drag him to the bar, where I order shots.

He eyes them skeptically. “Are you sure these are a good idea?”

“Positive.” I’m pretty sure they’re the opposite, but I’m committed to this bad decision. “Give me your hand.”

He does. Albeit reluctantly.

I run the lemon wedge along the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, then sprinkle it with salt and do the same with my own. I hook my arm through his and lift a brow in challenge.

He can’t resist a dare. Not when it comes to me, apparently. He’s proven that tonight.

We shoot our shots, but before he can lick the webbing on his own hand, I grab his wrist, lock eyes, and suck his skin.

His eyes widen, then narrow as his fingers encircle my wrist, firmly but gently. Warmth shoots up my spine. Nate lowers his head, chocolate eyes fixed on mine as he bares his teeth and they press into my skin—just enough to be a warning. His tongue swipes, and he sucks, hard. Heat floods my center.

My heart thunders in my chest, and all the air leaves my lungs on a whoosh.

Nate’s full lips pull up into a devilish grin, and his teeth press in a little harder before they finally release. He picks up the lemon, sucks that too, tosses it to the ground, and walks away.

Maybe he was right about this being a bad idea after all.

Not that I’ll ever admit it.