I drag my pathetic butt back to the main bar and claim a seat. An attractive Latinx man immediately tries to snag the spot next to mine, his gaze zeroed in on me. I’m not in the mood for conversation, so I whip out my hand to stop him. “It’s taken, sorry.”

“Are you?” he asks with a nod and a wink. “Taken, I mean.”

Gross. As I prepare to deliver a monologue on the vestiges of patriarchal values and their unfitness in modern American society, Dean slides onto the empty stool and swivels mine around so that I’m facing him. It’s a lot to take in. His flushed skin. The damp hair around his temples. The way his shoulders rise each time he takes an unsteady breath. I tell myself he’s still experiencing the effects of being onstage, but I know there’s more to his demeanor than that.

His piercing gaze leaves no doubt that I’m his sole focus, and for a moment I forget that dozens of people are in the vicinity, the sounds of clinking glasses and raucous conversation fading to a dim hum. He studies my mouth, then returns my stare, a silent question in his eyes.

Our safe phrase tumbles out of my mouth far too easily. As though I’ve been waiting for the perfect excuse to use it. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“No, I can’t,” he says roughly, his chest heaving as he slides his legs out to make room for me to fit between them.

I lean over and place my hands on the tops of his thighs; within seconds, Dean’s kissing me. Maybe he meant it to be chaste. Just a brief meeting of our lips simply to signal to my unwelcome admirer that I’m not alone. But that’s not what this is.

Holy shit, that is far from what this is.

He traces his soft lips across mine, then angles his head to deepen the kiss, emitting a low rumble in his throat that sounds like he’s begging for more. In answer, I splay my hand across his jaw and tangle my tongue with his, my ass rising off the stool to bring us even closer. There’s heat everywhere. Radiating off him. Off me. Surrounding us. Dean snakes a hand around my neck and under my hair, holding me steady in a loose grip that makes me ache to stroke him. Not here but somewhere close enough that we wouldn’t need to separate our bodies to get there. His fingers press against the back of my skull, massaging it, and I shudder against him.

“I feel it too,” he murmurs against my lips, then he grazes my jaw with his teeth.