Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(46)

He pulls me to my feet, twirling me around his finger like a rag doll until we’re in the middle of the dancefloor. I give into the music, focused on Cody.

Dancing with him comes naturally. I know what he’ll do next, how to position myself, and I can’t contain the smile when he gently pushes me away, then twirls me around his arm into his chest and swings from left to right.

I’m spinning again, singing the lyrics while Cody makes the dancefloor into his stage.

Colt, Conor, and their dates join in when the next song starts. In a step that seems almost rehearsed, the triplets swing us around, and I end up in Colt’s arms, adjusting my moves to his. Halfway through the next song, I’m with Conor, then back to Cody before the music changes again.

More people are dancing now, gliding across the makeshift dancefloor, each to their own pace and style.

Theo takes my hand two songs later, twirls me away, then yanks me back, and I bounce off his chest. “Shit, sorry. You’re a tiny thing,” he laughs, gripping my waist to lift me up. “Featherweight. Alright,” he mutters, setting me down. “Let’s try again.” His hold loosens as we fall into step.

“I can follow your lead just fine,” I say when he yanks me too hard again. “Use your hands to tell me where you want me. Twist left, and I turn left.” I twitch his wrist, showing him what I mean. “Twist right and I turn right, push, and I’ll back away.”

A tight-lipped smile is his only answer, but soon enough, it no longer feels like he’ll rip my arm out the socket. Britney blasts from the speakers when he leans me back so far I’m sure my hair sweeps the floor.

“You need a drink,” he says two songs later, leading me to the table. “But I’m not done with you. You’re fun!”

I chuckle, plopping down in my seat. Nico’s back there, no trace of the loaded-gun attitude. What’s more, a fresh glass of spritzer and a tall glass of lemonade wait by my clean plate.

“Thank you,” I say, hoping he won’t glare at me again.

He smiles a barely-there smile, warming me inside. I want his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, and his strong muscles under my fingertips.

Seconds later, his mother approaches, asking him to dance, leaving just Theo and me at the table. He’s not getting up unless the music changes to something less demanding so I leave him alone, walking down the long table to stop by William.

“May I steal a dance?”

I love how he readjusts his smart jacket and tie as he gets up, then kisses my hand softly like the undeniable gentleman he is. “Take it easy on me, young lady. I’m a little rusty.”

“You lead; I adjust.”

We squeeze through the crowd of dancing bodies, stopping in the middle, and William slides his hand to my waist. I’m swept off my feet when we start dancing, gliding across the dancefloor, his moves aristocratic in their measured perfection. I expect him to run out of steam by the end of the song, but we dance another one before he bows, kissing my hand again and leading me back to my seat.

“I’ll take it from here.” Nico steps in our way, pulling my hand out of his grandfather’s grasp. “May I?” he double-checks with me, but it’s William who says, of course.

He steps away, and Nico pulls me in, almost flush to his chest, his touch urgent. One of his hands is on the small of my back, the other holds mine, and only then do I hear what’s playing: “Senorita” by Shawn Mendes.

We dance, but it’s nothing like any other dance tonight. This is slow. It’s intense, flawless, but a struggle. I tremble when he twirls me into his arms, dark eyes not veering from my face, the lyrics as if written for the two of us. As if whoever watches from above plays this game, too, toying with my emotions.

“Are we okay?” I ask, breaking the loaded silence. “I’m sorry about the dessert and the kiss, too. I—”

“Do you regret it?”

“I get the feeling I should.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You don’t answer any of mine, so call it even.”

The song fades, changing to “One More Night” by Maroon 5, and I try to step away, but Nico doesn’t let me, drawing me back to his chest.

Every time he pulls me in so desperately, it’s touchdown in my belly, and eighty thousand fans cheer wildly.

“One more,” he says. “And yes, we’re okay.”

The urge to kiss him comes back ten times stronger when he makes the same move Theo did, and my hair sweeps the floor before he pulls me up.

“I don’t regret it. You’re a solid eight,” I reply.

“Then don’t apologize.” He twirls me around his finger, before wrapping his arm around my middle. My back is suddenly flush with his chest, his warm breath in my ear contrasting his icy tone. “Eight? I’m an eight in your book?”

“Don’t sound so upset. It’s good. I’ve never had an eight.”

“Eight?” he echoes again, downright baffled. His step falters for a brief moment before he recovers, lowering his voice to a throaty whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with my kisses, baby?”

I spin around, meeting the heated gaze of his dark eyes. “They’re too short.”

SEVENTEEN
Nico

THAT GIRL SURE KNOWS how to keep me on my toes. First, she shows me a confident, cheeky side she’s been hiding God-knows-where, stealing my dessert and replacing it with fucking M&Ms, then she rates my skills at eight.