Page 161 of Collide
Alex, legs spread, one arm slung over the back of the couch, watching me like he wants to drag me back into his lap and finish what he started.
Broderick, standing. Stiff. Glass in hand. He’s looking anywhere but at me.
Our eyes catch. Just for a moment.
Then he looks away. Takes a long sip of his drink. Says something to Andrew, who doesn’t even glance up.
The music keeps pulsing, but I don’t feel it anymore.
“We almost kissed,” I whisper into Riley’s ear, holding her close, swaying.
“Who?” she asks, arms flung out like it’s just part of the choreography.
“Broderick.”
“What thefuck,” she hisses, stumbling a little. “Oh myGod.”
“Guys, this is thebestnight,” Philippa slurs somewhere beside us, spinning in place like a kid at a birthday party.
Of course.
Trust Philippa to choosethisexact moment to let go completely. Then again, if there’s ever a time to lose it, it’s your bachelorette party, right?
“You’re so cute,” I say, placing my hands on either side of her cheeks and pressing them. Philippa scrunches her nose playfully.
“I love you, you’re the best,” she stammers her words as she throws an arm around me.
“I love him so much,” she adds, pointing straight at Andrew, glass in hand like it’s a wand.
Then Philippa pretends to cast out a fishing line and reels it in, her tongue between her teeth, concentration fierce like she’s actually trying to catch a marlin.
We turn just in time to see Andrew take the bait, grinning as he steps onto the dance floor.
With Broderick in tow.
Fuck.
Oh,fuck.
Riley grabs my wrist. Her eyes find mine—wide, wild,do not panic.
But it’s already happening.
Andrew sweeps in, wraps his arms around Philippa, and they start to dance, her squeal echoing over the music, limbs loose, drunk on love and liquor.
Then Broderick.
Steps beside me. Resting his hand on my shoulder, warm, steady, sending a pulse straight through me.
“Elena,” he says, leaning down and brushing his lips against my ear, voice low against the beat, the warmth sends a shiver down my spine.
I freeze for a half-second. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way he smells—woodsy and delicious.
“I’d like my phone back, please.” His voice is low, but his request cuts through my lust.
What? No!All he’ll do is stay on it for the night and sulk in the corner. Not on my watch.
“No phone, Brody! Have some fun.” I grab his arms like strings on a puppet, flinging them around as I sway my hips into the beat. Riley whoops behind me, our own personal hype girl, hair flying, face flushed.
