Page 14 of Too Safe

A crowd has gathered around a table, playing a drinking game I can’t see from where we stand. Cheers erupt from the group every minute or so—cheers, then a rowdy LCU chant everyone here knows but me.

A girl in a skin-tight black leather dress has climbed onto the island and is sloppily dancing, an open bottle of vodka gripped in her perfectly manicured hand.

Off the kitchen is a wide staircase that curves after the first few steps. The bottom is stanchioned off with red velvet rope, and on either side of that, two of the largest men I’ve ever seen—with necks the size of my thigh, I swear—stand guard. They’re significantly older than anyone else here and dressed in matching black T-shirts.

“What’s that about?” I ask Hunter, tipping my chin toward the men in black.

She scoffs. “I told you—Decker Crusade requires control in all things.”

I snort. How domineering must a man be to hire security and string a velvet rope across a staircase at a party? If I wasn’t seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.

A moment later, fingertips brush against the bare skin of my hip in a warm caress, sending a prickle of awareness up my spine.

I jolt from the contact and snap my head around. Only when I see that it’s Locke do I let out an exhale and drop my shoulders.

He leans in so close that the warmth of his exhale washes over my neck before he speaks, igniting the smallest flame in my belly.

“Hot Girl,” he murmurs, his voice so low it’s almost a taunt. “Didn’t know if you’d make it tonight.”

I take him in slowly, momentarily distracted by the bit of extra detail of his neck tat peeking out from the V-neck he’s wearing. I bite down on my lower lip to keep myself from doing something epically embarrassing… like sticking out my tongue and tracing the ink-stained hollow of his throat right under his Adam’s apple.

Jesus, Joey. Get a grip.

I school my expression and drag my focus back to his face. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” I deadpan, planting one hand on my hip.

The grin that breaks out on his face is too much. I have to avert my eyes to stop myself from grinning right back.

“Fucking ecstatic.”

A crash on the opposite end of the island startles us. I wince when I take in the scene. Island dancing girl is half hanging off the edge of the bar, her open bottle pouring out on the countertop. Someone else rushes to help her, thankfully.

“Want to ditch this scene?”

I side-eye the man in my space and note the wanton look on his face, confirming what I expected. He’s not asking a question so much as he’s offering an invitation.

He’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. The lust pulsing through my veins only amplifies the way the mutual attraction zings between us. I absolutely want to ditch this scene and be alone with him—naked, ideally, so I can explore his ink.

But I’m not about to come off as an eager beaver.

Cool. Calm. Collected. That’s all I’ll allow myself to give.

“You’ve gotta be scene to be scene, Emo Boy,” I retort, arching an eyebrow.

He practically growls at me in response, and I swear to god I feel the vibrations in my clit.

The bantering ceases with the shaky exhale he blows out as he eyes my tits pushed up in the sheer tank top Hunter loaned me. It’s two sizes smaller than what I’d normally wear, but it’s doing all sorts of great things for my cleavage. Good to know this little exchange is affecting him as much as it is me.

I clear my throat, and when his eager hazel eyes meet mine, he doesn’t even bother looking embarrassed. He inclines his head ever so slightly, and that one single motion is enough to have me pushing off the counter.

Then he’s turning on his heel and stalking out of the kitchen, knowing damn well I’ll follow.

Pausing, I meet Hunter’s gaze. “You good?”

A salacious smile splits her face at the exchange she just witnessed. “Oh, I’m great. You two have fun now,” she teases.

“I’ll still need a ride home,” I assure her as a blush creeps up my chest and heats my neck. “And if I’m not back in thirty minutes—”

“Joey,” she chides. “You’re good. We just got here, and I’m not in a rush to get home. I won’t leave without you. Pinky promise. Go fuck shit up and have fun. But if the rumors are true about Nicholas Lockewood”—she waggles her brows—“you’re gonna need more than thirty minutes.”

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