Page 4 of Not a Friend (Crescent Light #1)

Five Years Ago, December

I’m a terrible dancer, but I can pretend for tonight.

N ate offered me a hand, and I shook it once in the cramped space between us. “That’s Grant,” he said, pointing across the table.

Grant leaned closely to Gemma, head ducked low with a face-splitting grin as she spoke into his ear. She moved her hands animatedly, emphasizing whatever story she was telling.

“That’s Gemma,” I said. “I think she likes your friend.”

He nodded, glancing at the two already enamored with each other. “I think he likes her, too.”

I wondered if Nate often found himself in the same position as me. Was Grant his Gemma? It was easy to imagine Grant hopping from table to table, chatting and flirting as he passed with Nate tagging along behind him.

I stole another glance, and it was like my brain and body finally put two and two together.

A really— really —hot guy was sitting next to me, inches away, and he wasn’t asking me for Gemma’s digits.

Oh, shit .

I should say something. Hold conversation. Do something, anything.

I suddenly didn’t know what to do with my hands. I debated taking another shot of tequila just to give them something to do.

Thankfully, the music swelled as the DJ mixed in the next song—one of the biggest pop songs of the year. Sweaty college students flooded the dance floor, filling the space.

Nate leaned in closer.

“I’m going to grab another drink,” he said into my ear. His shoulder pressed against mine with the slightest pressure, his knee bumping mine again. Not in a drunken, handsy way, but in a comfortable way, like how one would casually lean against a friend. “What are you drinking?”

I grabbed the nearly full vodka soda lime that had been sitting, ice slowly melting, for the last twenty minutes. God, I can feel the hangover already. “I already have one, thanks, though,” I said, taking a gulp of the watered-down drink.

He nodded before turning his back and lifting from the barstool. Tapping Grant on the shoulder, Nate said something into his ear before disappearing into the crowd.

Well, that was fun while it lasted .

He’d clearly found his excuse and got out of dodge to try his hand at someone else in the crowd.

Was I unapproachable? Awkward? Rude?

Was it the way I gave him two names? Is it pretentious to introduce yourself as your own nickname? No. Lots of people have nicknames. His name is Nate, for crying out loud. What’s that short for? Nathan? Nathaniel? I’m not the only one here with a nickname.

Am I just… ugly? No.

At the risk of sounding vain, I knew I wasn’t ugly. Maybe dull next to Gemma, sure. But ugly? No, I didn’t think I was .

I took a deep breath, pressing the mental reset button. As always, I accepted the loss, shrugged to myself, and ignored the teeny tiny pang of rejection. I could respect the hustle of a single man in a university town. Nobody plays the field harder than them.

Godspeed, Nate.

I abandoned my bar stool when a classmate of mine stopped to chat. Sitting for too long made me restless. We took a round of the leftover tequila shots, which Gemma and Grant paused their conversation to partake in, and for the first time since my last final, I allowed my shoulders to relax.

Alcohol worked its way through my system, easing the tension that had been building all semester and allowing the music to move through me.

The bass thumped heavily in my chest as I swayed.

Somehow, it’d gotten even busier in the packed club.

No longer was the LED dance floor the only crowded space.

The entire building was practically shoulder-to-shoulder.

My classmate and I were gabbing about the latest book-turned-movie adaptation when I felt a featherlight touch on my back.

I expected it to be Gemma giving me the low-down on Grant. But when I turned, Nate towered behind me.

He smiled politely and raised a full drink as if to say cheers before taking a long swig. I raised my glass in response, mirroring his movement with a sip of my own.

Was I surprised to see him return? Yes. I assumed he would be going home with someone else by now. He was hot enough; he probably could’ve had his pick of anyone present.

But there he was with a full drink.

Whoops .

Maybe I was an asshole for assuming his intentions when he left the table before, but maybe he just didn’t want to ditch Grant.

When my classmate waved goodbye, Nate squeezed closer and ducked his head. “Sorry, that took forever.” The top of my head barely reached his chin. “The line was so long.” His voice had a smooth, soothing, clear quality to it. The kind of voice meant to narrate audiobooks or host podcasts.

“Yeah, it’s crazy in here!” I shouted over the music as a guy dressed as Buddy the Elf pushed by.

My eyes caught Gemma as she left the table and bounced toward the dance floor, Grant trailing closely behind.

Nate closed in tighter to avoid being run over by another rogue elf, his chest bumping my shoulder. He leaned in until his lips were close to my ear. “Do you wanna dance?”

Goosebumps rose over my shoulders, and, for whatever reason, I froze.

Do I want to dance?

We were in a club. Of course, I wanted to dance. But did I want to dance with him?

I thought back to earlier that night when Gemma and I were getting ready. She was, of course, giving me shit about my dry spell.

“Meeting someone out can be fun, Olive! You don’t even have to like them. If they’re cute and don’t seem like they’re going to murder you, why not have fun for the night? It doesn’t have to be that serious, I promise. ”

To which I responded, “Fuck it. You’re right.”

“Sure,” I said and downed the rest of my drink.

When he gave me a crooked smile and held out a hand, I took it. My hand was engulfed by his, warm and soft, save for a callous I vaguely registered against my skin. Nate pushed his way through the packed dance floor until we were near the center, surrounded by dancing bodies.

The music was louder here than on the outskirts of the dance floor.

Nate kept hold of one hand as we moved to the beat, but we were quickly forced closer together, my breasts pressed to his chest, his hips firmly against my belly.

This close, I smelled his leathery, sweet cologne that mingled with the fabric softener on his black shirt and felt the warmth of his skin.

Our proximity sent a nervous thrill through my body, but I kept moving and didn’t let my thoughts wander to how awkward I probably looked while we danced. Nate lacing his fingers through mine helped.

We are half-pickled in a giant room with a bunch of drunk twenty-somethings. Who here doesn’t look at least a little bit ridiculous?

Feeling bold, whether by the cover of darkness or by the tequila shots, I let my free hand explore tentatively, pressing it against his abdomen, snaking up his chest, and settling around his shoulder.

When the next song mixed through the speakers, bringing in a new wave of energy, I twisted and pressed my back into Nate, surprising myself by guiding the hand I was holding to my waist and down my hip.

He followed my lead, roaming his hand slowly, curiously as our bodies moved together. He bent over me, lowering his head until the tip of his nose touched my exposed shoulder, grazing it lightly along my nape. I shivered despite the heat of the club.

It had always amazed me how paradoxical crowded places could be. That there, in the middle of a crowd, with so many eyes around us, I still felt concealed. Private, even.

Intimate .

In that kind of environment, even the boldest of touches could feel like a secret.

He must have set his drink down somewhere because a second later, his other hand wrapped around my middle and joined in his hesitant, wandering touches.

When the song changed, I faced him again and he splayed a hand wide across the small of my back to pull me in even tighter.

Lowering his head to my shoulder again, he hummed softly along to the deafening music against my neck.

The loose ends of his hair tickled my skin, but I leaned into it, dizzy from his closeness, heart thundering in my ears after going so long without being touched.

His hands traveled freely now, no longer tentative and hesitant.

They edged on hungry as they traveled down my waist, around my round hips, across my ass.

A flush crawled up my chest and painted my cheeks in time with the butterflies in my belly.

When they rose lazily up my body and lifted my arms, my fingers laced together with his above my head.

I met his gaze under heavy lids. Earlier, I assumed his eyes were brown. But pressed against him now, they were actually a dark blue. The color of the middle of the ocean—the deep sea. My heart thudded against my ribs when they flicked to my parted lips.

I barely heard him say the words, but I saw them form on his lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

I nodded my consent without a second thought.

It wasn’t the hard, sloppy kiss I thought a kiss in the middle of a club would be like. Instead, Nate was gentle yet strong as his full lips moved against mine in a steady, slow rhythm.

He cupped the back of my neck, the tip of his thumb resting under my chin, holding it in place.

An involuntary moan sounded from somewhere in my throat, and I felt him smile against my lips.

When we finally pulled apart, I was blushing so hard I had to physically look away from him.

Had to lower my gaze and take a deep breath to clear the fog.

Nate was biting his lower lip to hold in a grin when I met his eye again.

He glanced over my shoulder. “Your friend is coming over here.” I shuffled around the cramped dance floor to follow his gaze. Sure enough, Gemma was parting the crowd with Grant in tow, closely behind her.

“So is yours.” I couldn’t help but lean back against him while we waited for them to make their way to us. His chest was solid and warm on my back. He snaked a hand around the side of my hip.