Page 54 of The Sun and Her Star

After a two fingered salute, he steps around me and disappears into the crowd.

I pick up Reece’s untouched glass of Patrón. He doesn’t drink, but he always orders a shot that he keeps propped in front of him. It keeps the servers from asking him if he’d like a refill. He’s still absorbed in whatever he’s reading and doesn’t look up as I throw back his drink.

I wipe away a splash that landed on my chin and then walk to the dance floor.

Dave’s jibe about fucking Apollo isn’t a new one. I always ignore him even though just those two words in the same sentence send blood rushing straight to my dick. I ignore it. I have sworn that I won’t let myself think of her that way until I don’t ever have to touch anyone else again.

When I reach Apollo, her back is to me. I run a hand up her side, my hand spanning her stomach as I pull her to me.

She falls backward and lands on my chest, and I wish I had the right to hold her there. But I don’t. So, I step back. The guy she was dancing with looks like he’s about to protest, but all it takes is a quirk of my eyebrow for him to think better of it.

He saunters off, and in less than two paces has attached himself to another woman.

Asshole.

“Hey,” Apollo turns to face me. She beams up at me, her eyes smiling, and I’m so surprised I don’t respond right away.

“This is fun, right?” she shouts over the music, grinning as she looks around the crowded room.

“Not really. You ready to leave?” I ask and hope I don’t look as nervous as I feel.

“Sure, why not?” She says with a noncommittal shrug. That’s a good enough answer for me.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” I grab her hand and pull her off the dance floor. When we get to the edge of the crowd, she tugs my hand, and I stop to look back at her.

“Thanks for cutting in back there; he couldn’t seem to take a hint,” she says as she pulls up the straps of her skimpy little tank top. I watch the slide of her fingertips over that bronze, smooth a silk skin, and my fingers itch to touch.

Just a little.

I stick my hands in my pockets and raise a skeptical eyebrow at her.

“Yeah. I guess he didn’t know that your flirtatious laughter and hair flipping meant you weren’t interested.”

“I was not flirting with him. I was dancing, and he did say something funny …” she taps her chin for a minute before a cute as fuck frown pushes her lips downward. “But, I can’t remember.” She throws her head to the side a little and giggles delightedly.

“Sunshine, are you … drunk?” I ask as I look closely at her.

She nods and then her head falls back, her mouth wide open as she laughs—boisterously.

“Oh, God, no wonder,” I say with a dry chuckle. I lead her around a seating area and then into the kitchen. Since my Instagram fame has grown, I can’t leave clubs through the front door anymore. As we walk, I pull out my phone and order a car from a service I’ve just started using.

A couple of waiters are reaching into their pockets as I make my way to the back door. I stop and reach into my pocket for my beanie

“You know … a guy wearing a ski cap in June in Los Angeles might not be the best choice if you’re trying to escape people’s notice,” she quips as I slip it on my head.

We walk into the alley, and I see the headlights of the car I called at the other end. I put an arm around Apollo, and she leans into me. Her weight feels so good and I walk slower than normal as we approach the waiting car.

“I may not be beautiful enough for you, but I was beautiful enough for the boy I let kiss me tonight,” she says in a slurred, drowsy tone.

Her words hit me with the force of a fist slamming into the center of my chest and suck the air from my lungs. And I stop us and turn her to face me.

“What did you say?” I ask, disbelief clear as day on my face. My tone daring her to repeat it.

She sees my dare and doubles it. “You heard me, Graham, and I let him touch my tits.” She says each word slowly, her expression challenging as she leers drunkenly at me. “Just ‘cause you don’t want to kiss me doesn’t mean no one else does.” She sticks her tongue out, slips out of my grasp and saunters to the cab. By the time I catch up, she’s opening the cab’s back door. I put my hand on the door and still her movement. She looks up at me. “What are you doing?” she asks and yanks the door again.

“You kissed someonetonight? In that club? While I wasthere?”

“Yup.” She says with a proud smile. My hand drops from the door, and she slides in. I don’t know whether to be angry or sad. I can’t fuckingthink. I just stand and stare at the open door and try to get a hold on my emotions. The window of the front passenger’s side rolls down, and the driver yells out, “You getting in?”

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