Chapter 29

You purposely bump into him. Because you want to. Because your day will not be complete until you do. Because you want to draw in the smell out of his pores and consume it into your body, from head to toe.

You ask him his name: Damon Allister.

You like his name. And you smile, shivering—exactly the way you want to shiver.

* * * *

Tango. Salsa. Samba. You dance with him all night long, taking in all of his moves. Flesh touches. Fingers entwine. Eyes connect. Twisting around each other. Simpatico. Entwined. And you drink too much: shots of vodka and liquor called Knight Red mixed with whiskey and iced tea.

The room spins. You can easily vomit but choke it down. How many drinks have you had tonight? Seven? Ten? Thirteen?

“I’ll walk you home,” he says, holding your hand, worried about you.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I feel that I have to. I would hate it if you didn’t make it home tonight.”

You slip your lips against his neck and laugh. “Do what you will to me.”