Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) by Crystal Kaswell Page A

the room.
    He offers me the drink. "Still yours if you want it."
    "No, thank you."
    "Suit yourself." He slams the shot then sets the empty glasses aside. His hands go to my hips and he pulls me back to the dance floor. "You catch on pretty fast."
    "Huh?"
    "Your dancing. You've got the hang of it."
    He keeps his distance this time. It's still close enough that my heart is thudding against my chest.
    After a few songs, I relax into the rhythm. A long time ago, I loved dancing. It's not quite as freeing with my body keyed up over Tom's proximity, but it's still lots of fun.
    Song after song, I lose track of everything but the music and his body against mine.  We dance for the better part of an hour, our bodies swaying together, before we hit a slow jam.
    I slide my arms around Tom's neck and look up at him. There's all this strain in his expression, like he's desperate to be thinking about something other than what's on his mind.
    "You okay?" I ask.
    "Yeah." He pulls back. "Just need another drink. You want something?"
    "Water."
    He nods and makes his way to the bar. I scan the room for Pete. He's on a couch in the corner, brooding. What is it these two guys are going through?
    I try to keep my mind on the music, but it's hard to slow dance by yourself. Tom is back quickly. With a water and two double-shots of whiskey. He follows my gaze to Pete and nods let's go .
    Tom takes my hand and leads me through the crowd. I guess it's dark enough that no one recognizes him. Or maybe it's the kind of place where no one cares. After all, we're trapped in the 90s. No sense in getting hung up on a modern day celebrity.
    He plops on the couch next to Pete and hands his brother a drink. "Moping won't make you feel better."
    "Neither will getting wasted."
    Tom glares. He slams his drink and drops the empty glass on a side table.
    I take careful sips of my water.
    Tom holds up his drink to Pete. Nothing. To me. I shake my head.
    Tom takes a swig. "Why the fuck is everyone glum all the time?"
    "Don't start," Pete says.
    "Don't do whatever the fuck this is." Tom finishes his drink and drops it on the table. "You think this is going to change things?"
    "You think forgetting your name is gonna change things?"
    "Everyone already knows my fucking name."
    "God damn, you're an obnoxious drunk."
    Tom looks at me with puppy dog eyes. "You think so too, kid? You think I'm obnoxious?"
    "I'm not getting involved," I say.
    "You won't hurt my feelings." He raises his eyebrows. "I have a massive ego ."
    "So I've seen," I say.
    Pete's jaw drops. "Sticks, please tell me you didn't—"
    "I didn't. Damn. You really think I'd be stupid enough to fuck Guitar Prince's baby sister? We're just friends. Real good friends." Tom looks me in the eyes. "Right, kid?"
    I'm silent.
    "You're making a fool of yourself," Pete says.
    "Don't I always?" Tom turns to me, ignoring his brother. "You looked miserable before. I hate to disappoint."
    "Excuse me." I nod to the dance floor. "I uh... I really love this song."
    Pete makes eye contact. "You want me to hit him?"
    I shake my head. "It's fine. I've got it under control."
    "If you don't—" Pete points to the couch. “I’ll be here.”
    "We've got a chaperone. Fun." Tom motions for me to follow him. "Guess I'm not trustworthy."
    I grab onto Tom's wrists and refuse to let go. "He's right. Whatever you're running from is going to catch you."
    "I'm aware." He shakes off my hands then takes them and places them around his shoulders. "If you don't want to dance with me, don't. I'm not lacking for interested partners."
    "That's charming."
    "Just saying." He slides his hands to my hips. "If you're gonna do something do it right."
    His hands make a compelling argument. I tighten my grip on his shoulders and sway in time with the music.
    We stay close for a few songs. No words. Just the music and our breath.
    Then the song shifts to something slow.
    With his hands on my hips, Tom leads. He pulls me closer. Closer. His thigh shifts