Page 113 of There's No Us Without You
He licks his lips when he spins on the stool to face me. “Want any help?”
“No touching, remember?” I cross my arms over my chest and pout.
Maybe he’ll change his mind and ravage me in the bathroom.
“Now, now,” he says, gripping my hips and pulling me between his legs. “Don’t be like that, Pop-Tart. You know my hands are tied.”
Before I have a chance to respond, Will drops a tray of clean glasses onto the bar. “What’s this about hands being tied?”
Emerson smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“You know he would,” Carter says, slapping a hand on the bar—the only one laughing.
Tyler squeezes his lips together to suppress his grin. I don’t blame him. Teasing Will is like poking a grizzly bear.
Will only glares at Carter, who shrinks back, dropping his head and clearing his throat. “Sorry.”
Tyler slaps Carter on the back. “You will be if you keep it up.”
“Exactly.” Will wipes a hand down his front, his long, tattooed fingers drawing mine and Emerson’s attention.
I really could stand here all day and listen to these guys go back and forth. It’s adorable, the way they all hate on each other. But then there’s so much love. Even between Will and Tyler—it’s there, niggling under the surface, but there all the same.
I’ve almost forgotten about my need to pee until Emerson slaps my bum. “Go pee, Pop-Tart. I’ll get you another drink.”
Will winks at Emerson, and my heart leaps into my throat. They’re so beautiful together. How have they not admitted their feelings to one another yet?
It’s so obvious they’re attracted to each other; it makes me want to slam their heads together to knock some sense into them.
They’re both single.
I’m also single.
With another slap to my arse, I yelp. “Yes, sir,” I say, saluting Emerson with my most sarcastic eye roll.
Bossy much.
“Would you just go already?”
I throw my hands up. “Fine, I’m going. Jeez.”
His laughter follows me until I’m so far into the crowd, I can’t hear myself think.
After using the toilet and washing my hands, I fix my dance-ruined hair and dab a paper towel over my sweat-coated skin. With a quick sniff of my underarms, I head back out from the bathroom and into the hall. I’m humming the tune to the previous song, not noticing the person in front of me until I slam into a hard body.
“Sorry,” I say, attempting to step around the figure hovering in my way.
The person moves in front of me, blocking my exit, which is when I finally glance up and freeze.
I blink a few times. “Cooper? What are you doing?”
“How’s our little bet going, Eden?” He gives me a once-over as he backs me against the wall, effectively caging me in, his arms on either side of my head.
I swallow the lump in my throat—the alcohol filling my stomach threatening to make a reappearance. “We probably shouldn’t be talking about this here,” I say, attempting to duck under his arm.
“Actually”—Cooper shoves his forearm into my chest—“I think this is the perfect place.”
My heart rate speeds up, sending adrenaline flooding my body, my legs now unsteady beneath me.
