Crash

In one seamless move, thanks to my decade and a half of dancer’s grace, I found myself straddling him and, before I could think twice about my actions, I pressed my mouth against his.

“Luce,” Jude managed to murmur around my unyielding mouth.

“Shut up, Ryder,” I answered, biting his bottom lip.

Giving up to the overbearing force that was me, his hands slid down my waist, settling on my backside. “Shutting up,” he breathed, returning the whole unyielding, overbearing favor.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“My god, woman.” His breath was so labored it didn’t really sound like him anymore. “Mercy.”

“I don’t believe in mercy,” I replied, trailing my lips down his neck.

“Okay, I’m not going to screw you in the front seat of a car, and if you keep doing that,” he said, trying to arch away from my lips. It was a failed attempt. “I’m going to be fresh out of willpower, so time for a change of scenery.”

The door flew open, bringing a gust of cool air and din of cliche high school dance music with it. I groaned.

He chuckled as he maneuvered me off his lap and outside the steamy car. “And I thought we men were horny bastards.”

Adjusting my sweater, I ran my fingers through my hair. “So did I,” I implied.

“Your corsage,” he said, the whole half hour make out session filed to the back of his mind just like that. I was still breathing like a dog in heat.

Retrieving the plastic box from the back seat, he stepped out of the car. “Since your dress is black, I had the lady put some black and silver ribbon between the roses,” he said, sliding the corsage on my wrist like it was one of the proudest moments of his life. “Do you like it?”

“Now that,” I said, smiling down at it. He must have spent a fortune. Red roses streamed halfway up my forearm. “Is a corsage. Very nice, Mr. Ryder.”

He beamed. “Why thank you, Miss Larson.” Holding his elbow out, he looked at the gymnasium. “Shall we?”

I sighed. “Since you leave me no choice.”

Covering my hand with his, he kissed the top of my head. “Not that I care or am complaining, but what was that back there?” I could hear the silly grin in his voice.

“Since when do guys need an explanation for getting to second base with a girl?”

“Since that girl was you,” he said, his gaze holding me like I was something he’d lose if he looked away. I’d never been looked at that way. My whole life I’d waited for it, and here it was now, at age seventeen, in the high school parking lot of my new school, with a boy named Jude Ryder.

This, right here, was some powerful stuff.

Shoving the gym door open, he ushered me in. Some hip hop song that was created and played only to give guys an excuse to hump a girl like a damn dog was blasting and the entire gym looked like it had been hosed down in Pepto-Bismal. The entire rainbow of pink was present: fuchsia in the balloons, tulip in the crepe paper, pastel in the cardboard heart cutouts, magenta in the spiral streamers twirling down from the ceiling.

This pink drenched terrain was a clip stolen from my worst nightmare.

“Oh. My.—”

“Pink,” Jude inserted, grimacing as he took in the gym.

Across the room, draped over some guy like a piece of Velcro, Taylor waved her arms at me. I almost shuddered again as I took in her florescent pink, heavily sequined, cocktail length dress. Someone call the Groupies from the 80’s Club because this bitch just ripped off one of their dresses. My floor-length gown with a corseted bodice was tame in comparison to every other dress out there.

“Okay, hurry and dance with me before I make a run for it,” I said, pulling on his jacket.

“Gladly,” he replied, handing our tickets off.

Walking me onto the dance floor, he looked down at his feet and then up at me. “Okay, here’s another little tidbit about me since you say I’m not the forthcoming sort.”

I raised my brows and waited.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Like you can’t dance or you won’t dance?” I was familiar with both types.

“More like I’ve never danced.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Seriously.”

It was the first time I’d seen him unsure. “Lucky for you you brought a girl who danced before she walked then.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. “Lucky me.”

“Okay, I’m going to make this simple,” I said, sliding my hands over his shoulders. “Just follow my lead and you’ll be just fine.” Then, like the dance pro I was, I popped up on my tip toes until I was at lip level.

“Maybe I’ve got this dancing thing down after all,” he said, cinching me tighter against him.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I whispered, pressing my lips into his and, just like that, we were the only people on the dance floor. The only people in the universe. Jude was the sickness I didn’t want to be cured of. He was the intoxicant I never wanted to be clear of.

His hands cradled my face and he kissed me harder. I wanted to bottle that kiss and take a hit of it every hour of every day.

“Luce?” he said, running his thumb down my cheek.

“Yeah?” I said, burying my head under his chin.

“Your stilettos are piercing the hell out of my feet.”

Looking down, I saw that my feet were, in fact, covering his. Stepping back, I put my stilettos back on solid ground. “Whoops.”