Correction, I thought as Josh and the sailor laughed. I fit with the bitches.
The guy followed Josh's attention to another group of girls, who were now giggling at something Josh had said. His brown hair was frizzed out under his sailor's cap, and his crisp white outfit made him look like all the other guys who'd chosen sailor over pirate. He was tall, and there was a smooth grace to his movements that said he'd quit growing. He looked older than me, but he couldn't be too much older. It was the prom.
And I don't have to be here, I thought suddenly, shoving myself away from the wall with my elbows. Josh was my ride home, but my dad would pick me up if I called.
My motion to weave through the crowd to the double doors slowed in worry. He'd ask why Josh wasn't bringing me home. It would all come out. The lecture to be nice and fit in I could deal with, but the embarrassment…
Josh was watching me when I glanced up. The guy with him was trying to get his attention, but Josh's eyes were on mine. Mocking me.
That did it. No way was I going to call my dad. And I wasn't getting into a car with Josh, either. I'd walk it. All five miles. In heels. And a long cotton dress. On a damp April night. With my boobs scrunched together. What was the worst that could happen? A runaway cow incident? Crap, I really missed my car.
"Way to go, girl," I muttered, gathering my resolution along with my dress, head down as my shoulders bumped into dancers on my way to the door. I was so out of here. People were talking, but I didn't care. I didn't need friends. Friends were overrated.
The music melted into something fast, and I brought my attention up when the crowd seemed to shift, awkwardly changing rhythm. I jerked to a stop when I realized I was a step away from running into someone. "Sorry!" I shouted over the music, then froze, staring. Holy crap, Mr. Sexy Pirate Captain. Where had he been the last three weeks, and were there more where he came from?
I'd never seen him before. Not in the entire time I'd been stuck in this town. I would have remembered. Maybe exerted myself a little more. Flushing, I dropped my skirt to move my hand to cover my cleavage. God, I felt like a British tart with everything shoved up like that. The guy was dressed in a clingy black pirate costume, a pendant of gray stone lying on his chest. I could see it where the collar parted. A Zorro-style mask hid his upper face. The wide silk tails of it trailed down his back to mix with his luscious wavy black hair. He stood taller than me by about five inches, and as I ran my gaze over his tight figure, I wondered where he'd been keeping himself.
Certainly not the band room or Mrs. Fairel's U.S. Government class, I thought as the spinning lights played over him.
"My apologies," he said, taking my hand, and my breath caught, not because he was touching me, but because his accent wasn't Midwestern. Sort of a slow, soft exhalation laced with a crisp preciseness that told of taste and sophistication. I could almost hear the clink of crystal and soft laughter in it, the comforting sounds that more often than not had lulled me to sleep as the waves pushed on the beach.
"You aren't from around here," I blurted as I leaned to hear him better.
A smile grew, his dusky skin and dark hair almost a balm, so familiar amid the pale faces and light hair of the Midwestern prison I was in. "I'm here temporarily," he said. "An exchange student, in a manner of speaking. Same as you." He glanced disdainfully at the people moving around us with little rhythm and even less originality. "There are too many cows here, don't you think?"
I laughed, praying I didn't sound like a brainless flake. "Yes!" I almost shouted, pulling him down to talk into his ear over the noise. "But I'm not an exchange student. I moved here from Florida. My mom lives out there on the inner coastal, but now I'm stuck here with my dad. I agree. You're right, it's awful. At least you get to go home."
And where is home, Mr. Sexy Pirate?
A hint of low tide and canal water drifted to me, rising from him like a memory. And though some might find it unpleasant, tears pricked at my eyes. I missed my old school. I missed my car. I missed my friends. Why had Mom gone so ballistic?
"Home, yes," he said, and an intoxicating smile showed a hint of tongue when he licked his lips and straightened. "We should leave the floor. We're in the way of their… dancing."
My heart pounded harder. I didn't want to move. He might go away, or worse, someone might slip their arm into his, claiming him. "Do you want to dance?" I said, nervous. "It's not what I'm used to, but it has a good beat."
His smile widened, and relief sent my pulse faster. Oh God. I think he likes me. Letting go of my hand, he nodded, and then dropped back a step and started to move.
For a moment, I forgot to follow and just watched him. He wasn't flamboyant. No, he went the other way-his slow movements making far more of an impact than if he had cleared the floor by spinning me around it.
Seeing me watching, he smiled from behind his mysterious mask and blue-gray eyes as he held out a hand for me to join him. I took a breath, my fingers slipping into his warm ones, and let him pull me into motion.
The music was the framework he moved within, and I lost myself trying to match the pattern of it. Almost swaying, we shifted at every second beat. I let myself relax and just dance, finding it easier if I didn't think about it. I could feel every shift of my hips and roll of my shoulders-and a thrill of something began to grow inside me.
While everyone around us continued with sharp, fast motions, we danced slow, the space between us narrowing, our gazes fixing more and more on each other as I became increasingly sure of myself. I let him guide me as the music pulsed and my heart pounded with it.
"Most everyone here calls me Seth," he said, almost ruining the moment, but then his hand curved lightly about my waist, and I leaned into him. Oh yeah. This was better.
"Madison," I said, liking how I felt, dancing slower than everyone else. But the music was fast, thumping to make my blood race. The two extremes made it seem all the more daring. "I haven't seen you around. Are you a senior?"
Seth's fingers tightened on the light cotton of my dress, or perhaps he was just drawing me closer. "I'm top of my class," he said, leaning so he wouldn't have to shout.
The colored lights played upon him, and I felt airy. Josh could suck an egg for all I cared. This was what my prom should be. "That would explain it," I said, tilting my head to see his eyes and try to place him. "I'm a junior."
He smiled with his lips closed, and I felt small and protected. My own smile grew. I could feel people starting to watch us, their dancing slowing as they turned. I hoped Josh was getting a good look. Call me a bitch, would he?
I lifted my chin, daring to reach out and pull Seth near, our bodies touching, then moving apart. My heart hammered at what I was doing, but I wanted to hurt Josh. I wanted the gossip tomorrow to be what an idiot he had been to walk away from me. I wanted… something.
Seth's hands slid smoothly at my waist, neither imprisoning nor demanding, freeing me to dance as I wanted, and I let myself go, motions turning more sultry than these backwoods bumpkins had seen anywhere but on their TV. My lips twitched when I saw Josh and that sailor kid he'd been talking with all this time. Josh's face was white with anger, and I simpered back.
"You want him to know you aren't with him?" Seth said wistfully, and my gaze jerked to his. "He hurt you," Seth said, and his dark hand left tingles where it touched my chin. "You should show him what he lost."
The moment balanced, and though I knew it was spiteful, I found myself nodding.
Seth eased to a halt, pulling me into him with a smooth, unbroken gesture. He was going to kiss me. I knew it. It was in every motion he made. My pulse hammered, and I tilted my head up to meet his lips with my own, feeling my knees lock. Around us, people slowed to watch, some laughing, some envious. My eyes closed, and I shifted my weight so that we were still dancing as we kissed.