Free Inhale, Exhale by Sarah M. Ross Page B

change of clothes that morning before I left. I slipped on the micro-short white jean shorts. They were by far the skimpiest pair I owned, but they highlighted my short, tan legs. I tied the bowling shirt in the back so it cinched a little more at my waist and touched up my mascara and lip gloss before taking a deep breath and heading out to join the others.
    I found the group laughing and toasting with their drinks over at the smoke-filled bar area. Six people were already crammed into a booth meant for four, and I stood awkwardly for a moment debating again if this was a good idea. As soon as I began walking toward them, I spotted Grant.
    He was at the bar grabbing drinks. I forced my legs to keep walking, and kept my eyes on the table, trying to ignore how good he looked in his jeans that rode low on his hips. His T-shirt lifted when he raised the tray of drinks above his head, giving me a peek at his flat abs and the deep V low on his stomach that I had the urge to trace with my tongue.
    Shaking off my naughty thoughts, I followed him. By the time I made it through the crowd to the booth, there was nowhere left to sit. It was a tight squeeze before he arrived, and even as petite as I was, there was no way I was fitting in there as well. I tucked my hair behind my ear as I stood, weighing my options while I tried to find my voice.
    “Hey, y’all,” I greeted, barely above a whisper. Why did I suddenly feel like this was a first date? Ridiculous!
    “Hey, there you are!” Tonya yelled, finishing the last of her beer before taking another from the tray. I could tell it probably wasn’t her first by her already slightly slurred speech. “Have a seat right there.” She pointed to the sliver of space next to Grant. “Don’t mind him. He won’t bite—trust me, I’ve tried!” She laughed heartily at her own joke, and the group joined in. I could feel the heat rising to my face again and quickly pulled my hair from behind my ears to cover my face.
    Gone was the confident nineteen year-old. Instead, a shy pre-teen had somehow managed to take over my body. Maybe it was being with a group of new people I didn’t know very well or the fact that Grant was eyeing me like the last piece of chocolate cake. I wasn’t sure if my body was telling me to run or get closer. I’d never been so conflicted about my feelings and I hated it. I liked straightforward. I liked knowing where I stood with people. This was unsettling.
    Everyone squished in even more, and I sat precariously on the edge, trying not to touch Grant, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of me. This of course made me blush even more. Eventually, he threw his arm around me and pulled me closer.
    “Don’t want you to fall, Cupcake,” he whispered, removing his arm and placing it back on the table in front of him.
    I didn’t reply. I’d suddenly swallowed sandpaper. Grant’s knee rubbed up against mine, and the butterflies in my stomach went wild. I reasoned with myself that there were six people jammed into this booth, and he wasn’t doing it on purpose. But I didn’t move and continued to believe my own lies so I wouldn’t have to move away from his touch.
    A trickle of sweat ran down my back, reminding me of my dream. I shook my head as if it would clear the image.
    It didn’t.
    “Do you want something to drink?” Grant leaned over and whispered in my ear.
    His silky voice almost melted all of my resolve, and I clutched at my purse in order to resist touching him. I couldn’t find my voice, so I nodded yes. I started to stand to get out of the booth, but he placed his hand on my wrist to stop me. My entire arm tingled from the touch, like when I slept funny and had pins and needles when I woke up.
    “Don’t move,” he whispered again, and then raised his right hand to motion to the bartender. “What would you like?”
    I couldn’t think of words. The only thing I seemed to be able to focus on was his hand still covering mine, and his knee still