“Okay, party girl. That’s enough. Let’s dance.” Jaggerd pulls me up by the hand and maneuvers us entirely too close to Gavin and Cassidy.

“I don’t want to dance.” I’m pouting. I know it and I can’t even stop myself. Damn Gavin Garrison to hell.

Jaggerd snorts out a laugh and draws me closer to his chest. “Maybe you just don’t want to dance with me, huh?”

Leaning back, I sway a little from the potent mix of liquor and adrenaline before looking into his eyes.

“Not true. I just don’t want to be here right this second. Not this close to . . .”

“Him,” he finishes for me with a tilt of his head.

“Everyone,” I correct. “Right now I’m tired, these shoes are killing me, my boobs are squished together like sardines in this dress, and I’ve had my fill of lovey-dovey mushy mess for the evening. Thank you.”

“You’re full of shit, Lark. But I still like you. And for the record, you look beautiful in that dress.”

I glance down at the midnight blue silk wrap and I nudge him hard with my hip, forgetting it’s the one I cut a few days ago while helping out in his garage.

A hiss escapes my lips and the pain sobers me instantly. “Ugh. Ouch.”

Jag’s eyes widen and he glances down to where my hand has gone. His hand meets mine. “Your hip still hurts? You need to get that checked out.”

“You’re probably right. I didn’t realize it—”

“You step on her toes or what, McKinley?” Gavin breaks in.

“What? No. She hurt her hip in the garage a few days ago and—”

“I’ll check it out for her. Here.” Without warning, Gavin passes Cassidy off to Jaggerd and pulls me into his arms as if they planned the switch ahead of time.

“Let’s go,” Gavin says, taking me by the elbow. “I’ll look at your hip and we need to talk.”

Yanking out of his grasp, I walk off the dance floor only to come face-to-face with him as he turns abruptly around in front of me. It would be nice if for one damn second he weren’t so freaking gorgeous.

“Excuse me? Are you a doctor now? Guess you’ve been busy these past few months.” The liquid courage is in full effect.

“What the hell happened to your hip? I thought McKinley fucking broke you. Your face just went completely white.”

You’re the only one with the power to break me, I think but don’t say. A few more sips from Jag’s flask and that one might have slipped out. Gavin reaches for my hip and I flinch, wincing at the reminder. “Nothing. My hip is fine.”

“Bathroom. Now.”

No, he did not just order me to the bathroom.

“Gavin Garrison, you know as well as anyone that I do not take orders. I’m sure as hell not going to start now.”

“Fine. If your hip is in such great shape, you can dance with Robyn’s uncle Elvis then.” Gavin tugs me to where Robyn’s uncle Richard, the Elvis impersonator who came dressed in full white sparkly jumpsuit getup, is stepping all over Robyn’s mom’s toes and wiggling his own hips for all he’s worth.

“Wait.” I dig my heels in and plant myself on the edge of the dance floor. “Might not hurt to at least take a quick look.”

“If you insist.” Without allowing me to argue any further, Gavin slips his warm, supple hand into mine, threading our fingers together and leading me into a back hallway.

I follow him, allowing my eyes to roam from thick dark hair I want to slide my fingers through, down his thick muscular neck, broad shoulders, to his perfect backside. He can rock a tux, that’s for sure. A pang of longing shoots through me when we step into the bathroom and he closes the door.

I’m trapped, in a small, enclosed space with a man who smells like Heaven and tastes like sin.

He removes his jacket and slings it over the counter. His white dress shirt is fitted tightly to his muscles, hugging and caressing them in ways I’ve been dreaming about for months. He unbuttons his top two buttons and I can’t stop staring at his neck, his fingers, his mouth. All of it.

“Gavin,” I breathe, prepared to beg him to open the door and let me out because I can’t do this.

“Let’s see it, Bluebird.”

He drops slowly to his knees, never once breaking eye contact. Other than a slight trembling in my hands and legs, I remain still—entranced and completely paralyzed by his proximity.

I swallow to make sure I can still function and then lift my dress one inch at a time until the gash on my hip is revealed to him.

“Jaggerd McKinley had sex with Cassidy before the wedding. You have any feelings about that?”

I shake my head even though it’s swimming from having him this close. “Um, yay for them?”

Gavin doesn’t even flinch at the sight of my black lace thong. Nor does he touch me in any way that even borders on inappropriate, which is almost brutally painful.

Smooth fingers graze the area just below my still-healing wound.

“It’s bruised pretty good and a little inflamed. I’ll check for a first aid kit with antiseptic wipes but you should probably get it checked out. Mind if I ask what happened?”

Come to me, words.

I fumble over my tongue for a second and take a deep breath.

“I ran into something in Jag’s—um, the McKinleys’ auto body shop. Sometimes I help out over there. Answering phones and stuff.”

Jesus. I sound like a nervous teenager. Which I no longer am.

Again, I can’t help but weigh the pros and cons of our band reuniting. If I had a Magic 8 Ball right now like the one I had as a kid, I already know what its answer would be if I asked it whether or not I could keep my shit together.

Outlook not so good.

I square my shoulders and watch Gavin search the cabinets until he produces a small white, plastic container.

He tears open a small square packet containing what looks like a wet wipe. “This will help a little. But, seriously, no telling what you ran into in that chop shop. Promise me you’ll go to the doctor.”

“Chop shop?”

Gavin doesn’t respond to my inquiry and I don’t press it because the wet wipe on my hip both tickles and stings, igniting a tingling sensation that extends far deeper into the flesh. When he’s done, he blows gently on my skin and my knees threaten to given out. I grip the marble counter behind me for support.

“You good?”

“Just fine,” I tell him through gritted teeth.

He rubs some cream on my wound and blows some more before standing and that’s it. I can’t take it anymore. His mouth is so close, he’s so close. He seems taller or something, and even though I know the likelihood of that is ridiculous, I don’t remember ever feeling so very aware of his presence. Or maybe I just blocked it all out. But here, now, in the room with him, everything is coming back.

All of it.

Every single second we spent connected on a physical level. His mouth on me, his lips, his tongue, his body inside of mine.

“You’re good at this,” I say, barely able to get my voice to go above a whisper.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

I don’t know if he means with first aid, which is likely since he’s had to perform CPR on his mom more times than I can count, or seduction, which I also happen to know he’s well versed in. Either way, I am in danger of losing my grip on my ability to remain upright.

It’s as if my brain has been doing me a favor for the past few months, allowing me to focus on being pissed at him instead of . . . this. But clearly my brain has left the building and I am completely on my own. This is dangerous.

I am weak.

I want him.

I need him.

Screw it.

“There,” he says gently, lowering my dress back down over my thighs. “That might help a little but you should still—”

My mouth captures his midsentence. His lips are slightly moist and even fuller than I remembered. I tense and a dull ache hits hard as my heart drops a few inches in preparation of being rejected.

Much to my surprise, Gavin doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t reject me. He doesn’t spew some bull about my brother or our friendship or seeing anyone else or anything.