Since Summers

three : good dancer

My eyes fluttered open and immediately found him leaning against the door frame with his arms folded and a smug look on his face. I raised the beer bottle to my lips and took a long drink, pretending he didn't exist.

"Good taste. That's the best lager beer from Germany." He nodded at the bottle in my hand and added, "which happens to be my favorite."

I suddenly didn't feel like drinking it. "I picked it randomly," I countered. I felt the need to let him know that I didn't pick his favorite beer on purpose. Some guys, especially one who looked like he got a big head like him, usually assumed that all girls adored him and were even grateful to be in his presence alone.

"Then you're very lucky." He shrugged and moved closer, round the big counter in the middle, and stopped a few feet away from me. He rested his waist against the counter and looked up at me. With me sitting on the counter, I was one head taller than him, although I knew full well that he must be above six feet tall considering he towered over me on the dance floor fifteen minutes ago. I glanced at my watch, hoping the hands of the clock would move faster than usual. I couldn't wait to get back home and claim the massages Ty had promised earlier.

I paid no attention to him as I continued to drink and pulled out my phone to continue my daily stalking. Shawn Mendes might be taken but he was still a hell of a sight.

"You're a good dancer," commented him after a moment of silence.

I slightly lowered my phone and peered over the top at the guy standing in front of me. I looked beyond the square jaw and tanned lips, all the way up the straight autocratic nose, and stopped at a pair of eyes the color of hot charcoal. Up close, he was even more handsome than from a distance, but there was no way I would admit that. Not to anyone and especially not to him. Considering his ego was already the size of a T-Rex egg, there was no need to make it even bigger.

I took one last pull of my beer and put the empty bottle on the counter. "And you owe me an apology." I gave him a pointed look, one that warned him not to mess with me.

He chuckled and took two steps forward, invading my personal space. Close enough that I could feel his body heat and the testosterone radiating from him but not close enough that we touched. "I don't owe you anything." Putting both hands on the counter, each on the spot beside my thigh, he said, just above a whisper, "You're the one who owes me something."

"I don't owe you anything." I shoved him away and jumped down from the counter. I took one step and his hand caught my arm. Goddamnit. I looked at him his hand and back to his face. "I know AIDS doesn't transmit through the air but with you, I feel like it would. Now would you please go away and disturb someone else?"

"Go out with me. Be mine." He looked so serious as if he was asking about a matter of life and death and not just asking a girl out.

"No," I answered almost immediately. This was one easy question that I didn't need to consult my brain to know what to say.

He frowned. His brows lowered a fraction and he looked at me for several long moments. "Why not?"

There was always that question. I wondered when would a guy simply take no for an answer without trying to find the reason behind it. "Because I have an amazing boyfriend who's going to pick me up in about twenty minutes."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Dump him. Be with me." He said it as if it was the right thing to do. He made it sound like I was being stupid if I didn't take the opportunity to go out with him. Seriously, I swear some guys were conceived by anal sex considering how many assholes were around, including the biggest ass right in front of me.