She turned back to face him, surprised to find him unsmiling now. “What?” He stood close beside her, his head bent toward hers to talk into her ear.
“You said you’d need to find your way home. How’d you get here?” His hand lingered on her shoulder, heavy and warm, holding her in place.
“I came with a friend. She drove, but judging by the last time I saw her, I don’t think she’ll be driving home anytime soon.” She’d found Isaac and they’d been getting ready to do body shots, giggling and heading for a room so they could strip and get drunk in private. “I have no idea where she is now, but I’m ready to leave.” She gestured to her shirt.
“Let me give you a ride.” Those gold-flecked brown eyes swept over her face, sincerity shining in their depths.
“I don’t even know you.” She shrugged off his hand, disconcerted by his continued touch and proximity. She didn’t like when people insisted on touching her for no reason, especially random strangers. Turning toward the crowd again, she was disappointed—but not surprised—to find that the gap she’d intended to use had vanished, a new cluster of drunk people filling the empty space. Nature hates a void, after all.
And fate must hate her, because Hot Laughing Guy was still talking to her.
“Sure you do,” he said, his voice taking on a cajoling quality. “I’m Lance. On the other hand, I don’t know you, so maybe you’re right.” He stood close behind her, and she only had to turn her head to see him grinning again.
“Right, you’re very funny.” She sighed. “Fine. I’m Abby.”
Lance threw an arm around her shoulders and started steering her toward the door. He just laughed again when she once again shrugged out of his hold. His shoulders shook as he walked in front of her, his broad frame clearing a path for them both.
Once outside, Lance turned to her. “Do you need to find your friend and let her know you’re leaving?”
“No, I’ll just text her. There’s a good chance I don’t want to find her right now anyway.” Lance waited while Abby pulled out her phone, texted Megan that she was leaving, and slipped her phone back in her pocket. “Thanks,” she said, grateful that he gave her a little more space than he had inside.
It was after ten now, and the late twilight of June had finally given way to night. The concrete and asphalt radiated the heat from the day, but the darkness and cool breeze were a relief after being in a house full of the fug of bodies and alcohol.
She followed Lance to his car about a block away. The slight breeze plastered her still-wet shirt against her body. She plucked it away, grimacing at the way it stuck to her skin, painfully aware of her erect nipples.
She didn’t know what to make of Lance. He made her feel by turns embarrassed and flattered by his attention. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention and didn’t crave the spotlight. And while he wasn’t the first guy to ever flirt with her, he was the first to be so brazen in his appraisal of her body and not a complete douchebag. At least she didn’t think he was. He seemed genuine about offering her a ride home, and his hilarity at her expense quickly turned to concern when he found out she didn’t have one.
That was the problem, though. While his looks were very attractive, she was self aware enough to know that she didn’t belong with someone like him. But for some reason, his arm had felt right around her shoulders. She’d enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the feel of his hand where it rested on her arm, the hardness of the muscles hidden by his shirt. The guy obviously worked out.
And liking the feel of him disconcerted her so much that she had to put space between them.
Lance walked a few steps ahead of her, leading the way to his car. He didn’t say anything, but glanced her way now and then to make sure she still followed him.
Stopping halfway down the block, he used a key to unlock the passenger side door of his car. Like actually stuck it in the lock on the door and turned to unlock it. His car wasn’t at all what she’d expected. She’d pegged him as driving a flashy sports car—something red, maybe, and fast. Definitely with automatic locks. But the door he held open for her belonged to a beat-up old muscle car. It was some indeterminate yellowy gray rust combination that she couldn’t quite make out in the light from the nearby street lamp. She looked at him for a minute before sliding into the car.
Abby waited until Lance got in the driver’s side. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“Open my door for me.”
Lance flashed that grin at her again. He probably thought he was charming. He wasn’t wrong. “My mom taught me to always open the door for a lady. She’d whoop me if she found out I did anything else.”
“So you have to open the door for me, but staring at my bra through my wet shirt is fine? How does that work?”
“She’d probably whoop me for that, too.” The grin never left his face. He didn’t even pretend to be sorry.
Abby shook her head, trying not to grin back. “Should I save her the trouble and do the honors myself?”
Lance laughed. “I wouldn’t mind a bit if you decided to try.” He turned and winked at her. Abby snorted, crossing her arms. And immediately uncrossed them because that just trapped the sticky, wet fabric against her chest.
Lance started the car and pulled away from the curb. He’d rolled down his window
