Things Liars Say (#ThreeLittleLies #1)(29)

We stare at each other until I’m itching to run my fingers down his chest. Instead, I flex them and state the obvious. “We should go. Melody is covering for me, and I can’t leave her hanging or she’ll kill me. I promised I’d be there by five thirty.”





Calvin





When she’s not leaning in to hug or shake someone’s hand, Greyson’s arm is looped through mine, her hand clasping my tricep as we stand at the head of a receiving line, enthusiastically greeting the Gala’s arriving guests: sorority alumnae, her sorority sisters, and their dates.

I cannot stop giving her sidelong glances, for she is truly a vision.

It’s over an hour before we’re “alone” and Greyson can take a break from her hostess duties. I set my beer glass on a nearby table, and we wordlessly move out onto the hardwood dance floor. I pull her in close, and her fingers snake under my suit jacket, clasping at the small of my back.

I want to kiss her so badly right now, but it’s not the time or place. I settle for resting my lips on her neck, just below the white flower she has pinned there, running my hands up and down her spine.

We dance like this through one song, then another. I’ve never been more grateful to hear a bunch of cheesy slow songs in my life.

Because somehow… we just fit.

And f*ck if it doesn’t feel amazing.





Greyson





At this point, I don’t even think we’re moving. Cal’s nose is buried in my hair, his fingers are stroking my back, and when the chords from the next slow ballad begin, I don’t even care that I have responsibilities to see to.

Just one more song, and I’ll go pull the silent auction bid cards.

One more.

Or two. I can afford two more songs.

My hands find their way up the front of his shirt, resisting the urge to pop open the row of black onyx buttons one at a time. Those same hands wrap around his neck, resting there so my delicate fingers can rake through the curly hair just above his starched black collar.

Cal kisses my temple and tightens his hold, his hot breath on my neck throughout the song.

I continue stroking his hair. He rubs my back in a light caress.

I’m sure we look ridiculous just standing here, barely dancing, but I still feel like I’m floating on air.

“I don’t know if I mentioned it? but thank you for coming tonight,” I aimlessly twirl a piece of his hair around my finger.

His voice is a hum next to my ear. “You’ve only mentioned it four or five times. But for the record, there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

I whisper against his skin. “I won’t ever take you for granted, Cal. I know the sacrifice you made to be here tonight.”

“I know.”

I arch back and cock my head at him. “Is your sister horrified you’re at a sorority formal?”

His mouth curls up into a smirk. “I wouldn’t say horrified; I’d call it shocked. I mean, I’m not really the type to, you know…”

I nod. “I know.” We sway to the music, and his hands rest on my hips. “Speaking of types, what is yours?”

“Oh, gee, let me think,” he laughs. “Blonde hair, hazel eyes, infectious smile…”

I nuzzle our noses.

Sick, I know.

“You think I have an infectious smile?” I smile at him.

“And kissable lips.”

“Ooh! Now that I like the sound of.” I release my fingers from his silky mop of hair, trail them over his shoulders and down over his firm pecs, and give them a squeeze. He puckers his lips, and I touch my trout pout to his—briefly, so I don’t smear my lipstick.

Cal rolls his head to the side and groans. Loudly. “I want to, ugh. So bad.”

Laughing, I press my lips to his for another quick kiss. “Want to what?”

“Never mind. I’ll sound like a dog in heat if I say it.”

My heartbeat quickens. “Say it anyway,” I plead.

He hesitates. “I want to stick my f*cking tongue down your throat.”

“I want that too,” I murmur, leaning in to flick his ear with my tongue. “I want to lick you from head to toe.”

“Fuck. Um, okay. You win.” He gives a strangled laugh and buries his face in my neck. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

“Why?”

“Because. You look so sweet. And you’re classy.”

“Hmm,” I hum in his ear as we sway, enjoying the power of my femininity when his whole body stiffens at the simplest inflection of my tone. “Well, you know what they say about the classy ones.”

“No.” His voice squeaks slightly. “What do they say?”

I raise one eyebrow suggestively.

His head shoots up, eyebrows in his hairline. “My dick is so hard right now.” He groans. “Shit. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

“Hard? Ya think? It’s been digging into my thigh this entire time. Trust me, it’s taking every last effort for me not to grind on it.”

“Jesus, Grey!” Our bodies are flush, and Cal is pushing his hips into me slightly. Not enough to be obvious to an onlooker, but enough that I notice. “I’m trying really, really hard to be polite.”