Free Fakers by Meg Collett Page B

looked back into her
eyes. “Every guy in here was thinking about coming over. He was
just the first to work up the courage.”
    “Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.
    “Do you forgive me for today?” he asked.
    “You didn’t sound that sorry,” she shouted.
Stevie was talking to Troy, leaning over the bar and pressing her
boobs into the wood.
    Hale said something, but Kyra didn’t hear.
“What?” she called.
    He leaned even closer, his chest pressing
into her. His arm wrapped around her back and pulled her closer as
he lowered his head. For a crazy, shivering moment, she thought he
might kiss her. Instead, he leaned into her ear and said, “I wasn’t
sorry.”
    Her eyes widened. “Hale!” she accused, but
she laughed. “That’s awful!”
    His mouth pulled sideways in a crooked,
knowing grin. “I would’ve preferred if my whole crew hadn’t seen.
We’ll have to spend all day tomorrow fixing the mistakes they made
this afternoon because you were all they could think about.”
    Kyra blushed. “Yeah, right.”
    “Hey, Hale!” Stevie shouted, leaning around
Kyra. “What’s up?”
    “Not much. Good to see ya, Stevie,” Hale
said with a polite nod of his head. It was odd coming from a man
who looked like him, but it warmed Kyra’s heart. His hand grazed
her arm, skimming the skin gently. She shivered.
    “I hear you’re a peeping Tom,” Stevie
said.
    Kyra turned and gaped at her friend, but
Hale laughed. “Kyra shouldn’t go around flashing everybody. That’s
what she gets.”
    Stevie died laughing as Kyra smacked Hale’s
chest, but it only made her palm sting. His chest was rock hard. He
looked down at her, his eyes dark in the bar as his hand made
another tickling trail down her arm. A shaky breath escaped her
mouth.
    “Want to dance?” Hale asked, leaning close
to her ear again. His breath was warm and fresh against the skin of
her neck, and she imagined what it would feel like to have his
fingers caressing the sensitive spot below her ear. The only
coherent gesture she managed was a nod.
    He took her hand and helped her down from
her stool. “I’m going to go dance with Hale,” she shouted at
Stevie, who waved them off.
    Hale led her down the back wall to the dance
floor. Kyra squeezed past the bar’s patrons, thankful that Hale
seemed to cut a path before him. She saw the stares of a few men as
she passed, but she ignored them. Her eyes were focused on the
wide, flexing muscles of Hale’s back.
    Once on the floor, he turned and pulled her
into him. There wasn’t much room for dancing, but they made do in
the small space. Kyra felt herself pressed against every inch of
his body. She ran her hand up his chest as she wrapped her other
arm around his neck.
    His hands were on her hips, holding her to
him as they moved to the music. It wasn’t exactly a slow song, but
there wasn’t much room for actual dancing. Not that Kyra minded.
Hale’s fingers found the bare expanse of her back where her shirt
had raised.
    Her hand skimmed from his chest to the
muscular swell of his shoulder and back. She smiled, watching him
watch her. His head was bowed toward her, cocooning her in his
embrace. She felt completely hidden with him, like he was blocking
her from everyone’s stares, which meant he had seen the other guys
checking her out, and he didn’t like it. The thought made Kyra
happy.
    But then Hale’s eyes caught something over
her shoulder. She noticed the stiffening of his muscles beneath her
hands, and his body stilled against hers. A hooded anger seemed to
slip into his eyes as he focused on whatever was happening behind
her.
    “What is it?” Kyra shouted over the band,
but Hale didn’t respond.
    He released her and slid past, his body
slicing through the other dancers easily. The fury radiated off of
him like steaming pavement on a hot day. Kyra followed his line of
vision and saw Cade talking to a burly guy with a large beer
gut.
    The guy was clearly in Cade’s face