Page 67 of Stardusted
I stopped moving. It hadn’t escaped my notice, either, that he’d said my name for a second time. Therightname.
Thishadto be a dream. I felt kind of like the clouds had parted and a sunbeam had chosenme.Like winning the lottery if the lottery was a long-legged, too-sexy bartender.
I narrowed my eyes. It was my turn to wonder if there was a prank show host lurking in this crowd of sweaty, gyrating dancers. Because that seemed more probable.
I went with honesty. “I, ah, don’t know what to say to that.”
“Yeah.” Sky’s mouth twisted ruefully, and he sighed. “I get that.”
Since he was still lightly gripping my waist, it took only a nudge of his leg to get me moving again. Because I was a sucker, I let him guide me until we rotated gently in place. My view shifted. Nearby, a pair of girls barely twenty-one shouted the song’s lyrics at one another. The lights pulsed in time with the bass’s sultry thump.
Another rotation, and his thigh slipped between mine. It was as hard and muscular as the rest of him, which really wasn’t helping me find my bearings. I took a deep breath to quell the fire kindling low in my belly and tightened my grip on his shoulders. Also unhelpfully muscular, for the record. I forgot what I was saying.
Sky chose that moment to speak up, his expression torn between curiosity and amusement. “You don’t know what to say to which part, though?”
I didn’t know what to say toanyof it. I shook my head. My blood leapt against my skin. The room blurred. I was definitely tipsy. That last shot had tipped me over the edge.
My next exhale was unsteady. Sky must’ve caught it because his grip loosened instantly, and he bent to get a better look at me. “Do you need some water? Have you had a lot to drink?”
Not nearly enough. My hysterical laugh nearly burst free. I could use some water. Possibly more vodka. Maybe a prescription. I didn’t know anymore.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying for a smile instead. God, I sounded like a broken record. I disengaged from the object of my fantasies enough to fan myself. It was about a thousand degrees in the center of all these bodies. I made myself keep swaying, if only so I didn’t look silly, standing still in the middle of the dance floor. “I’ve had a couple drinks. It’s been a long week,” I added, maybe a little more defensively than necessary.
“Sounds like it.” He watched me, more serious now. “I heard you called off work because of that explosion at the university.”
I stiffened at the reminder.Explosion. Right.
“Yeah,” I muttered, fanning myself harder. I eyed a girl in a pink sequined dress nearby, the play of lights over all those sparkles. “That didn’t help anything.”
Sky didn’t answer right away. A quick glance up showed his eyes had narrowed a little.
“What happened?” he asked, cocking his head. Green lasers fell in lines across his face. “Were you hurt?”
A thousand bruises, a couple sleepless nights, and a case of terminal paranoia later, and I still wasn’t sure how to answer either of those questions. I tried. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
Talons. Glowing tablets. Marks etched into my skin.
Somehow, I didn’t flinch, but my throat closed. Because Sky was watching me closely again, I dropped my gaze to the partially unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “I wasn’t hurt or anything. Thanks for asking.”
“Good,” he said quietly.
But the conversation had chased away some of my warm, buzzing contentment. I turned my head, searching for Amelia. I hadn’t seen her in a while. Or Emerick.
Then Sky asked: “So whatreallyhappened at the school?”
The words registered and chilled my insides.
Electricity. Smoke. The robot. The light.
This time, I gave up my pathetic attempt at dancing and stopped altogether in the center of the dance floor, not even caring how it looked.
I was too focused on the sick feeling curdling in my gut.
It didn’t help that Sky waspushingagain. Like he had after the accident, and at Oasis. This time IknewI hadn’t imagined it. He was pushing, and hestillhadn’t freaking told me what hewas doing here. Why he’d shown up out of nowhere and why he was looking at me now like I was an equation he needed to solve.
A new, insidious thought slunk in like an oil spill.
Oh my God. None of this was real. He’d turned me into a mushy pile of hormones, and I was dumb enough to fall for it. What if he was just trying to get information out of me?
