Page 33 of Hot Girl Summer

“Guys, I’m cock-blocking,” James says, approaching us.

Yes, you are. I snatch my gaze away from Danny’s bright hazel eyes.

“Look at those two,” my roommate continues.

He jerks his head towards April and Ollie standing at the bar. They both sport huge, matching grins while my redheaded friend pets the huge tiger on his forearm. I’ve always admired my bestie’s ability to make quick work of hot men.

James turns his attention towards Danny and offers his hand.

“You’re Danny, right? You guys were awesome. I’m James.”

Danny shakes his hand and modestly thanks him. The lights dim, eventually fading to black, and the music starts again. The whole crowd roar as Monty James struts onto the stage bathed in bright lights and a black leather jacket. Danny takes up residence beside me, while the audience gathers in front of us, leaving no space unoccupied.

“Can you see?” he asks, his warm breath sending a sheet of goosebumps across my skin.

I struggle to find a clear opening, but every now and then I catch a glimpse of the stage.

“Here,” he says.

Gently, he places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me into a small space in front of him. I want to lean into the warmth of his palm, to step back just a little to feel him behind me.

“Better?”

I close my eyes to savour his touch before turning around to thank him.

“No worries.”

Dimples indent his cheeks as he returns the smile, and I spin back around. I’m dizzy, and my heart is racing. I can’t decide if it’s a delayed side effect of the alcohol, or a Danny side effect, but I could easily get used to this feeling. The only downside is that his proximity resurfaces every ache I’d tried to bury when he was up on that stage.

My only hope to avoid going completely overboard with want for Danny Pearce is to focus on the music; the beams of light oscillating between us and the stage; the sensation in my body as the bass ripples through the floor and diffuses at my feet.

I try to focus on anything but the ghost of his breath in my hair, teasing trails down my neck. I lose balance, swaying with no rhythm as his body heat radiates onto mine, and I hope to God this feeling goes both ways. If not, I might die.

Monty addresses the crowd, snapping me out of my stupor. Much like Ollie had done previously, he relays anecdotes and speaks about his music, although his demeanour errs on the side of cockiness over confidence. He introduces his band, thanks the audience, and shares more self-indulgence, but there is no denying his talent.

The band continue their upbeat energy over the next few songs, and the crowd rambunctiously bounce along to hit after hit. But I can’t ignore the all-consuming pulsing and throbbing taking over my entire body, especially when there’s no way of avoiding Danny’s addictive Riviera scent.

Without a glance behind, I finally gather the courage to test the waters. I’ve never made the first move with anyone before, and I like it that way. I’m terrified, but if there was ever a time to take agency over my life, facing the fear of rejection in favour of something better, fighting the voices in my head that tell me I’m not good enough, this is it.

If I don’t try, I won’t know.

The biggest chart topper sends the floorboards pulsating and shaking. I step back a little, inching closer into Danny’s personal space. He doesn’t move. I consider it progress, and a green light to carry on.

A moment later, warm fingers graze the back of my hand. My heart is racing. That little bit of contact tells me all I need to know. Blistering heat, want and electricity races through my veins, but it’s cut short as an overzealous partygoer crashes into me, sending beer flying through the air.

When ice cold liquid hits my skin, I fall back, colliding with Danny’s rock-solid body. His hands slide onto my shoulders, catching me, and I shoot the perpetrator a sour look as I try to catch my breath, which would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t have Danny’s arms wrapped around me.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I shout, but they don’t hear me. I turn to face Danny. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

If I’m being honest, I’m not sorry at all. The ice-cold liquid on my shirt is a blessing in disguise, serving as my own personal cold shower.

“I can get him kicked out if you want?”

Those dimples undo me again. There’s a fire and a vulnerability behind his eyes that I haven’t seen before. I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. You’ve done enough.”

My gaze travels downwards. First, I notice the empty glass, then the huge wet stain on his shirt.

---