Hellion, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) by Elle Casey Page B

they’re real.   Weeee!
    I don’t give him the eyebrow and I don’t turn away.   He can stay.   He can foam finger me if he wants to.   He can even eat crackers in my bed.   I smile to let him know we’re all good.   I wonder if he’ll suck my blood right here on the dance floor.
    “I was a little afraid to come over here,” he says, leaning down and talking near my ear so I can hear him over the music.   Oh, shit … he smells good too.   There’s nothing like a freshly showered, shaved, and cologned vampire man to get me in a twist.
    “Really?   Why?” I yell back.   I could not possibly be cooler.   My shoes, my eyebrows, my hip-sway.   Shakira has nothing on this action.
    “There’s a string of guys with broken hearts standing all around the dance floor.”
    “Ha.”   I turn around and dance with my back to him.   He takes the hint and moves closer.
    We say nothing for awhile, letting the music speak through our bodies.   The lights get flashier and the pace of the music picks up.   I turn around and face him again.   His right hand moves to my hip, and I make sure to move my body around a little extra so he can see how flexible I am.   Hips don’t lie.
    “You from around here?” he asks.
    “Did you seriously just ask me that?” I say, laughing.   My laugh is very charming right now.   I’ve practiced in front of the mirror for years.
    He grins, revealing model-perfect teeth.
    I’m wondering now if he’s a gay vampire.   This might just be a friend-dance thing he has going on.   Men this pretty are almost never straight.   Some of my happy fog dissipates.
    “I just wanted to make sure you’d be around for awhile.”
    “Charming,” I say.   I’m impressed.   He’s got good stuff in that arsenal of his.   I’m thinking the chances of a gay man practicing pick-up lines on me are pretty slim.   Happy fog fully engaged!
    “Want to get a drink?” he asks.
    I picture walking up to Mick’s bar with this guy and immediately fall into a panic.   “No, let’s dance some more.” I put my hand on his arm.   There are muscles under that shirt.   Holy, holy.   He’s probably too warm to be a vampire, but I’m not complaining.   Warm flesh is good too.
    “What’s your name?” he asks, getting closer to me.   Both of his hands are on my hips now.
    “Quin.   What’s yours?”
    “Mark.”
    “Nice to meet you, Mark.”   I feel like a complete dork saying that, but it’s the best response I can come up with.   Words are failing me because my brain is battling visions of Mick and this guy.   Their faces are melding together and I’m seeing Mick’s head on this guy’s shoulders.   I back up to get out of his grip, flustered.   Dammit!
    His hands fall away but he acts like nothing happened.   “Nice to meet you too.”
    The lights drop and the music downshifts.   It’s not a slow song, but it’s definitely sexier without the faster beat.
    Mark comes in close and I let him.   As his hands slide over my hips to the small of my back, our bodies sway with the rhythm.   BOOM—DUH-DUH—BOOM …   I’m sweating and so is he.   His shirt is starting to stick to his chest, and I can see the line between his well-formed pecs.
    He’s so much taller than I am, his waist is closer to my stomach than my hips, making it just a little awkward. But when I look up at him and see his good looks go dark under the fading lights, I almost feel like I’m dancing with a real live vampire, and there’s not much sexier than that.
    Someone bumps into me on my right, jerking me out of my Twilight sex-haze, and I look over in annoyance.   No matter how crowded the dance floor gets, there’s still some etiquette to be followed, and part of that concept is the rule that says you’re not supposed to be an asshole and ruin a vampire love affair moment.
    After-work party, dead ahead. “Watch it,” I say to the dingbat blonde who’s bumping and grinding away with a group of