Anyway, this too-rich-to-shit asswad bought a ton of cocaine, drove it out to the party in his sportscar and used that as a bribe to get himself and his dickhead friends in.

Ever since, we’ve been tolerant of other schools at our parties—provided they behave. Oh, and provided Oak Valley Prep ponies up and brings the goods to Snow Day. They donate a shitload of money, too, so that we can have our gym decked out with a DJ, catered food, and decorations.

The only thing that stays rachet are the Prescott students.

Freshman year, I wore an adorable pink dress that Penelope stole for me from Pamela’s closet. But junior year? I wore red leather pants, a black leather bra, and a black denim jacket with stilettos. Stacey Langford stole a four-hundred-dollar gown from Nordstrom, but her best friend got caught and lost her gear. She came in her PE clothes, hair and makeup done to the nines.

Where am I going with all of this?

Well, unlike last year, I have people I can actually dance with on Snow Day. In freshman year, I had Aaron, and not having him the two years in between … that killed me. Not having Penelope around … that wrecked me. She was just a year older than me, so at least this time, I can pretend like she graduated and that my senior year is everything it’s supposed to be …

I shake my head and rub my hands down my face.

I’m standing outside the hall to Studio C at the Southside Dreams Dance Company. Last time I was here, I was furious. I threw Oscar’s iPad at the wall, broke the mirror, nearly rage-screwed Callum Park … Okay, Bernie, focus, focus, focus. It’s only been four days since Vic gave us the go-ahead.

None of the other boys have touched me since Tuesday morning, but the tension is starting to get thick. I feel it every night when I crawl into Victor’s bed and let him mount me like an alpha in heat. Gah! I shove open the doors to the studio and find Callum stretching on the floor in the middle of the studio.

“You going to teach me to dance today?” I ask, heart thundering. Now that we know Sara Young is following me around, we have to be extremely careful with what we do. Having me come here to dance, now that’s a great way to throw her off our trail.

“More like … I’m going to show you how to find the dancer inside of you,” Callum murmurs, leaning over and folding his body in half. He presses his chest into his thighs, hands wrapped around his feet. Impressive. “Get changed and start the playlist on my phone.”

I nod, and head up to the front of the room to dig through his duffel bag. He’s packed me some pink leggings with a matching sports bra, and a loose black tank to go over the top of it. The ballet slippers with the ribbons are in there, too, just waiting to kiss my toes and carry me across the dance floor.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week,” I say, facing the mirror as I strip down, watching as Cal lifts his head up from his stretch so that he can watch me right back. We’ve been here, done this before, but now … things are different.

Now, he’s the only letter in that dark acronym I haven’t fucked.

Now, Victor’s given his blessing and there’s nothing shady or underhanded to this.

So why the hell do I feel so nervous? I guess getting harassed by cops at school could be part of it. Or it could be because Sara Young follows me every-fucking-where I go now. But … it’s none of those things, is it?

It’s because Cal and I both know we’re not just here to dance today. If we were, I wouldn’t be sweaty, and my hands wouldn’t shake as I yank the sports bra over my head and do my best to wrestle my breasts into it.

“This feels like a tourniquet for my tits,” I choke out, trying to lighten the mood. Callum chuckles, and the sound feels much closer than it should be. When I lift my head up suddenly to look in the mirror, I can see him standing right behind me. “Jesus, Cal, how the fuck do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asks, tilting his head to one side and smiling at me. Ass. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he gets a kick out of it, too.

“Move like that,” I say, turning around in my new outfit. Callum looks me over appreciatively and then pushes me gently back into the wooden chair near the mirror. As he kneels down to help me with the ballet slippers, I tie my hair up into a bouncy pony. “It’s like … you teleport or some shit.” He presses his mouth to my foot and chuckles, so that the sound reverberates up my entire leg and right into my crotch.

Yep.

Oh yeah.

This is happening.

I need it to happen. Some part of me feels like the most pressing bit of business that Havoc has to deal with right now is this: me claiming my boys. I have one left, and I have to make him mine. I just have to.

The feel of Callum’s fingers as he slips the pink shoes onto my feet and carefully ties the ribbons is exquisite, like the opening of a slow, sensual track meant for dancing in the rain or reuniting after a tragedy. The way the touches me tells a story, one that I never want to end.

“Hey Cal,” I start, grabbing my discarded pants from the floor and pulling out my lip gloss. I apply it, but only so that I can pretend I’m not scheming here. Pretty sure he knows that I am, that I’m quite literally gunning for his dick, but I can at least try to be subtle, right?

“Yes?” he queries back, lifting that cerulean gaze of his to my face. There are scars on his throat that catch the light from above, turning silver as he sits back into a crouch to look at me.

“I’m sorry if I make you feel like you’re part of the background, or if I hurt you by letting Oscar—”

“No,” he says, voice much firmer than usual. That distinct gravelly tone of his comes across even stronger, and I shiver. “I like to be in the background; I like to sit in the shadows. That’s where I feel comfortable.” He rises to his feet and holds a hand out toward me. A slight smirk works its way across his pretty pink mouth. “And Oscar is … well, I can’t say I’m not a little bit jealous, but he needs you, Bernie.” Cal pauses as I lift my hand up and place it in his. He curls tattooed fingers around mine and hauls me to my feet. “We all do.”

Callum holds me for a moment before stepping away to start up his playlist. He waits until I move into the center of the room before hitting play. As soon as the music begins to trickle from the speakers, I know what I’m listening to.

This is it. The song I’m going to fuck Callum Park to.

Redemption by Besomorph, Coopex, and RIELL.

“Just follow me,” he commands, and here, in his kingdom, in his domain, I’m powerless to resist.

We circle each other, heads down, gazes locked. Callum is so fucking intense; I do my best to meet him tit-for-tat. It’s hard though. He blends into the shadows, makes himself invisible, and yet … he’s an eruption waiting to happen.

Our slippers whisper across the floor as we move together in nearly perfect unison. It isn’t easy, but I do my best to match his steps. Callum can feel the beat in a way I never could; he understands so much more about his own body.

I feel like I never got to really know my body. After all, it was hard to remember that it actually belonged to me. So many people wanted to take it from me and use it for themselves. I guess I just sort of disconnected my brain from all of that.

Callum steps forward and I do the same, holding up my palms the way he does. We press our hands together briefly before he turns and does a little spin, holding his hand out for me. I look at it for a second before I prance forward on my toes and grab hold. He yanks me close, until we’re face to face, drawing his fingertips along the edge of my jaw. There’s sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Mine, too. I’m soaked in it.