Page 11 of Perfectly Us

“Suit yourself.” He takes a bite of one and gives me a relaxed smile. The dude is high as a kite, and it hasn’t even been thirty minutes since the party started. He’s cute as hell, though, with his strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes. “Might not be any left later.”

“How do you even have pot?”

“I have a medical card,” Dylan says, suddenly serious. “For my anxiety.” And then, he busts up laughing. “Who the fuck created that word? An-zi-ee-tee.”

“I think it was your mom.”

He laughs harder and takes another bite before moving through the party.

Music pumps through the room, some new pop song Ruben’s been obsessed with over the last week. A girl tugs on my arm and asks me to dance. I smile and move with her, hands on her hips as she rolls them against me. The next song is faster, and we continue to dance. A few other girls surround us, drinks in hand and bodies moving to the beat.

It’s always like that with me.

Girls flock to me because they know I’m safe. They can have fun and not have to worry about me trying to get down their pants.

“Al!” Ruben shouts over the booming music. When I look at him, he nods to the left side of the room and dramatically puts a hand to the side of his head in a swooning motion.

Confused, I follow his gaze.

Shiloh is standing in the entryway, his stance stiff as he glances around the room. And then our eyes meet. Damn if it doesn’t make my heart flutter in my chest, especially when he softly smiles.

I amble through the crowd of crammed-together bodies, taking the opportunity to check him out, which isn’t hard because he’s taller than the people around him. Something I don’t think I noticed before. His build is toned but kind of lanky, long arms and legs, and his torso’s lean.

“You made it,” I say once in front of him.

“Yeah.” He slips his hands in his pockets and drops his gaze. “I did.”

“Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Vodka and Sprite? We have rum too. Oh, I also spiked some Kool-Aid. Purple flavored.”

“Purple flavored? You mean grape?”

“It doesn’t taste like grape,” I say. “It tastes like purple.”

Shiloh chuckles and shyly glances away again. He’s so fucking adorable I can hardly stand it. Shaggy dark brown hair falls into his face, and I wonder if it’s so he can hide from the world.

“So, about that drink.” I step closer.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” he answers.

“That’s cool. I can get you a soda or water or non-spiked purple Kool-Aid.”

“I’ll take a Coke?”

I twirl my nonexistent mustache. “Oui oui.Coming right up,monsieur. We have the best Coke in all zee land.”

Shiloh laughs under his breath and follows me into the kitchen. A guy has a girl on the counter, hand up her shirt as they make out. I scoot around them to grab a canned soda from the cooler and pop it open before handing it to Shiloh.

“Thank you.” He takes it from me.

My eye is drawn to his hand as he tips the can back for a drink. He wears two rubber bracelets on each wrist, and I tilt my head, trying to see what they say. One is black and has a semicolon on it, and another is solid blue with nothing else.

Catching me looking, he gets a little self-conscious and lowers his hand.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m nosy.”

“It’s okay.” He holds out his arm to me. “I don’t mind if you look.”

I’ve touched a lot of guys. Did much more than touch them. But as I move my fingers across the top of Shiloh’s wrist, warmth burrows in my chest and tingles shoot all throughout my body.