They fell silent, and Lucy let herself register the pure joy of being in Reece Sullivan’s big arms.

Yes, she knew he was dating Abby Mancuso, and up until tonight, Lucy really had liked Luke Dickson.

But all that didn’t change the fact that nothing had ever felt quite so right as this moment.

Without thinking, Lucy rested her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes close. Letting herself pretend that this wasn’t just one dance with a guy who thought of her as a sister. Pretending that someday soon he’d show up on her doorstep and tell her that he couldn’t date Abby anymore because he was in love with his best friend’s little sister…

Her eyes flew open. Had Reece just pulled her a tiny bit closer?

Nah. Probably her imagination.

Then she felt the brush of his chin against the side of her head, the gesture lingering and fleeting, all at the same time. Almost as though he was trying to get close in the only way he could.

Lucy’s heart felt like it was cracking as the music slowed, knowing her perfect moment with the perfect guy was coming to an end.

Reece graduated in just a couple months, and then…

Then what?

The music faded away, and Lucy took a deep breath before fixing a bright smile on her face and taking a step back.

“Thanks, brother,” she said teasingly, putting emphasis on the latter word, hoping to put him at ease so he didn’t freak out about the way she’d rested her head on his shoulder like they were together.

Reece didn’t smile back. Instead he frowned, his face all confused guy before giving a quick shake of his head.

He stepped back, looking like he wanted to run away.

Had the dance been that bad?

“Call me if you can’t get ahold of your parents,” he grumbled, before brushing past her.

Lucy stared after him in confusion.

What had that been about?

Chapter 19

Reece

It’s taken a few drinks and every ounce of my admittedly crappy conversational abilities, but Lucy’s finally, finally lost that haunted look she’s had since walking in on Oscar kissing that girl.

Hell, for that matter, the drinks have taken the edge off my own anger at the way she turned the whole thing around on me. Fact is, I don’t want to be angry at her. Not last night when she’d looked so shattered, and not tonight when she looks so happy.

Tomorrow will be soon enough to remember all the damage we’ve done to each other.

We’re at our third stop of the evening, a nightclub with a patio. Not usually my scene, but it’s early enough on a weeknight that although the music is pounding and the drinks are flowing, it’s not so crowded that we can’t have a conversation at the table we’ve nabbed outside.

She rests her elbows on the table, chin propped up on her linked fingers, as she gives me a smile that’s so much like the old Lucy I nearly lose my breath at the memories rushing through me. “So when are you going to tell me what you did last night?” she asks.

I tilt my beer bottle to my lips. Wine hadn’t seemed right for tonight’s occasion, and I’m not at all sure I trust myself around Lucy and liquor.

“That’s really bugging you, hmm?” I say.

She shrugs and takes a sip of her rum and Diet as if it’s no biggie, but I know better. Lucy Hawkins is dying to know if I hooked up last night.

Too bad darlin’. I’ve spent days imagining you spending tonight in the arms of some other dude. Turnabout’s fair play.

“I just hate that I wasted a night in Miami holed up in my hotel room. Was hoping to live vicariously,” she says too casually.

I smile wider. “You always were a crappy liar.”

Lucy opens her mouth to retort, but then her eyes light up and I watch as her rum-buzzed brain dances away from the topic at hand. “I love this song.”

She turns back to me, eyes expectant, but I merely snort. “No way.”

I expect her to protest, but she merely laughs happily. “Yeah, I figured.”

I frown, a little annoyed to be dismissed so easily. My frown turns to a full-on scowl when Lucy all but bounces out of her chair. The gesture has her neck tilting back, and for about the hundredth time this evening I realize my mistake in encouraging her to dress up.

She must have packed the short, hot-pink dress for Oscar, because it’s flirty and sexy and hotter than fuck. The top is fitted and strapless, clinging precariously to perky round breasts, the skirt hitting at that teasing part of mid-thigh that says Look but don’t touch.

Through the open patio doors, I keep my eye on the dance floor, annoyed every time someone moves to block my view, relieved when Lucy comes into sight again.

Well, relieved and turned on.

I don’t know the name of the song, nor the artist, but it’s vaguely familiar. Some hot top-forty number with a sultry female voice that apparently begs to be writhed to, because Lucy’s movements are ninety percent hip wiggle.

I’m not the only one who notices. A tall guy approaches and without missing a beat, his hands find her hips, his movements matching hers as they grind in perfect unison to the song.

My beer freezes halfway to my lips. What the hell is this?

It looks fucking choreographed. My beer slams back down to the table when Lucy’s arm lifts, her hand hooking idly around the other guy’s neck as she leans into him, her head against his chest, lips parted.

Her eyes close as the guy’s hand moves down slightly, then up again, lifting her skirt a bit, and I’m moving before I can stop myself.