The Pass by Rebecca Jenshak

Author:Rebecca Jenshak [Jenshak, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951815080
Publisher: Rebecca Jenshak

16

Sydney

Tanner grabs me a drink from the bar and we sit on a low sofa on the balcony. It’s a clear night and the moon and stars create a light show on the lake. I lean into him to steal some of his warmth and he pulls me closer.

“It’s amazing up here.” The wind blows my hair around my face and into Tanner’s.

“I’m not sure how you can even see it.” He uses both hands to brush my hair out of my face.

Goose bumps dot my arms as he continues to touch me and look at me like I’m the only other person out here. Something changed over dinner. One minute we were Tanner and Sydney, best friends who want more, and the next we were two people on a first date with insane chemistry ready to rip each other’s clothes off. I can see it on his face. No matter how hard he’s trying to hide it or stick to his five-date plan. He’s breaking.

“Cold?” He rubs my arms from shoulder to wrist.

“I’m okay.”

“Liar. Your nipples are saluting me.” His gaze falls to my chest, as does mine.

I press against him and he wraps me up so that his chin rests on top of my head. “I really dig your boobs. Especially when they’re rubbing against me.”

A burst of laughter escapes and I lift my head forcing him to create enough space so I can look him in the eye. “Really? They’re so small.” I push them out and his blue eyes watch with rapt interest.

“They’re perfect… and now I’m hard.” With a groan, he stands and takes my hand. “Dance with me.”

That seems like the worst way to get rid of a boner, but what do I know? The dance floor is practically empty. It isn’t that late – definitely not clubbing hour, and it is Sunday night. Most people are probably home resting up for the week or recovering from the weekend.

The few other people out here care about us as much as we do them, though. We’re all in our own little bubbles. Tanner’s a good dancer. He doesn’t do it much back at Valley, but on a few drunken occasions, I’ve been able to pull him onto a frat party dance floor.

Moving to the beat, he keeps one hand on my hip, holding on to the spandex fabric of my dress like he’s keeping me from moving farther away. As if I’d try.

I lean into the touch wanting more. So much more. He gives it to me, spreading his long fingers out so they splay out over my rib cage. The heat of him and his familiar scent vibrate through me with the music.

We’re in sync without trying. Each time I move closer, so does he, until we’re chest to chest. I rest my arms on his shoulders, and he now has both hands on either side of my waist. We’re junior high dancing. The kind where our hands are in appropriate places, but the bad intentions fill the space between us.

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