Page 27 of Revival

“Relax. It was like dancing with my cousin.”

“You let your cousin put his hand on your ass like that?” Spencer turns to me when we find an open spot.

“I don’t actually have a cousin.” I twirl and face Spencer again. “And his hand was on my hip.”

“Kitten, he had a handful of cheek.”

“I think you need to get your eyes checked.”

His serious gaze sweeps me from my face to the tips of my painted toes. “I can see perfectly fine.”

“Then maybe it’s your jealousy that needs taming.”

“It’s impossible not to feel a little jealousy around you,” Spencer admits.

A pang travels through me, like a steady, dull dagger being dragged down my torso. Old feelings rush to the surface at his blurted confession.

“You don’t get to feel jealous.”

“But I do.”

Anger wells inside me at his insistence.

“No, you don’t have the right.” I step back, my body instinctively looking to flee as emotions rush to the surface. I stumble on unsteady feet in my rush to create space. “You were the first guy to ever break my heart”—I hiccup—“and I’m trying to heal from the last guy. You don’t get to tell me how I’m allowed to do that.”

Spencer runs a hand agitatedly through his hair. “I’m not telling you how to do anything. You’ve been out here all night living your life. Do you even know what time it is? Two. It’s two in the goddamn morning, and you’re getting wasted with strange men.”

“I’m single! I’m supposed to be doing this alone!” I shout. The tenuous hold on my control is slipping.

“Cort—”

I slam my icy drink, dropping the now empty cup onto the floor. A second later, I wrap my hands around Spencer’s neck, yanking him into my hold.

His eyes grow wide, shock coloring his features an unnatural shade. I’ve doused this normally calm and cool man with unexpected uncertainty.

Good.

Let’s see if he likes being as off kilter as he’s made me all. Freaking. Day. Ever since he crashedmyparty by showing up onmyplane.

“Is this what you’re jealous of?”

My hips fit flush with his. The button on his jeans presses against my soft stomach.

“Or maybe this is what you’re jealous of?”

Reaching down to our sides, I locate his limp hand. Squeezing his fingers, I wrap it around my waist and plant it on the upper curve of my ass.

He slides his other hand around my side to mirror its twin. The matching squeezes surge through me, a warmth I haven’t felt in a ridiculously long time.

I cup the unscarred side of his neck, nervous to put pressure in a place that could hurt him, and rest my other hand on his hard chest. His heart pumps wildly beneath my palm, tapping out a forbidden beat.

Our foreheads touch, and our breaths mingle in the small space between our lips.

We rock together, finding the beat and moving like we’ve done this hundreds of times over the years.

This is only the second time I’ve dance wrapped in Spencer Stone’s arms. And I never danced with Sebastian.

Not once.

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