“What do you guys want?” Violet hollers, flipping her red and black hair off her shoulder as she turns to us. “Unless you guys want to order for yourselves.” She shoots me a teasing smirk, knowing Emery and I are underage and can’t order our own drinks.

“Are we going big or going home?” I ask Violet, for once glad I have to sign because it’s too damn loud to try to talk.

“Let’s go big!” Violet shouts, fist pumping the air.

Luke shakes his head, stifling a laugh. “I’m going to have my hands full, aren’t I?” He pulls her closer as she aims a devious grin at him.

I sign to Violet, “Shot of Jäger all around?” I glance back at Emery.

“I’ve never done shots except that one time at your place,” she admits, seeming embarrassed.

“We don’t have to drink at all,” I sign. “We can go listen to music and still have fun.”

She slowly shakes her head, deciding. “No, I want to do this.”

“Are you sure? Because we can just drink water, or Violet can get you a beer if you want.”

“No,” she replies firmly, straightening her stance. “I want to do shots.”

When I still appear uncertain, Violet swats my arm. “Let the girl have fun, Ryler. Jesus.” Then she turns back to the bartender and orders three shots of Jäger.

The bartender fills our order, and the three of us throw back the shots. We slam our glasses down on the bar, and I restrain a laugh when Emery shudders and chokes on a cough.

“You good?” I check.

She nods with her hand pressed to her chest.

Violet orders us another round and then another. Emery’s confidence seems to grow with each shot as she sucks each one down easier

“I feel so nice and warm inside,” Emery remarks as she places the empty shot glass down on the counter.

Violet gives her a high five, and then they both bust up laughing, stumbling around as they work to catch their breaths. Like Emery, Violet isn’t the biggest drinker.

“We’re going to have our hands full tonight,” Luke comments with amusement, leaning against the counter. “Aren’t we?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I look over at Violet and Emery who are giggling about something, as if they’re best friends sharing a secret. I just hope Emery doesn’t find out how we are really connected. The last thing I need is to have to explain to Luke and Violet what’s going on.

“Let’s go get a table,” Violet declares after ordering another round of shots and paying the bartender. “Or should we go dance?”

Luke stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels, looking utterly amused. “Whatever you want.”

“Let’s dance, then.” She throws back the drink in her hand, sets the glass down, and then the two of them disappear in the crowd.

Emery’s gaze slides to me. “What are we going to do?”

A thousand dirty thoughts cross my mind, but I can’t act on any of them.

“We are going to finish our drinks.” I raise the glass, and she clinks hers against mine.

I watch her as she lifts the brim to her lips, sucks the drink out, and then places the glass down. “It’s starting to taste better.” She wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

“That’s because you’ve had four.” I tip my head back, devour my drink, and then slip my free hand through Emery’s. Then I leave the empty glass on the counter and tug her through the mob of intoxicated people.

“Where are we going?” Emery hollers over the sound of the music.

I turn my head toward her and mouth, To dance. She instantly grows fidgety so I pause. Releasing her hand, I sign, “Unless you don’t want to.”

She shakes her head as she skims over the rowdy people around us, grinding against each other and crying out the lyrics to the song. “No… I want to.” The florescent ceiling lights reflect in her pupils as her gaze resides back on me. “It’s just that I’ve never gone to a club or anything. I went to prom, but,” she shrugs, “Evan hates dancing. The only reason we went is because we were homecoming king and queen.” She sticks out her tongue and makes a gagging gesture—I’m pretty sure she only has the courage to do it because she’s buzzed.

“I never went to any dances,” because I was in juvie, “but I’ve been to a shitload of concerts, and I’ve learned one thing about dancing from all the experience.”

“And what’s that?”

“If you want to dance, dance. There’s no judgment at these things, which makes them pretty awesome.”

She smiles, and then threads her fingers through mine. “Okay, let’s dance, then.”

I don’t bother mentioning that dancing can be extremely sexy when done under the right circumstances—circumstances that usually include alcohol and sexual tension.

At first, Emery is cautious, keeping her distance from me as she rocks her hips to the music. I move with her. I’ve never really been into dancing, but I can rock out to a little garage rock any day. The longer the song goes on, the more into it she gets, until she finally spins around and presses her back against my chest. That’s when the two of us decide to start playing a dangerous game of Want But Can’t Have. A very, very dangerous game that is really fucking tortuous to play yet impossible to give up.

Emery starts grinding her hips to the sultry beat of the song. With each movement, her ass brushes against my cock, making me go rock hard. I grip the curves of her hips and my hands unnecessarily slip underneath the bottom of her shirt. My fingers delve into her soft flesh, and I bite back a moan. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve forgotten just how soft her skin is, how amazing she smells, how incredible she feels against me.