Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(64)

“Then you get mine, space babe.”

She grins before shutting her eyes. I stick a star on each eyelid.

Then she does me. Our fingers peel and stick and brush along skin. We keep going. Until we’re both grinning. Until we’re haphazardly decorated in stickers, from our faces to our arms.

Until all the stars are gone.

And then Luna stares over my head. Her face falls.

“What…?” I start to ask, but I rotate in my chair and see that Korey with a K has finally arrived.

“Luna?” Korey approaches with a wincing smile at her sticker-face, then mine. “Am I interrupting?”

“Uh,” Luna hesitates.

I stand up, but to my surprise, so does everyone else.

“Club time,” Farrow says with ease, popping a bubblegum bubble.

“I guess we’re going to the club downstairs,” Luna tells Korey. “Wanna come?”

Say no.

I’m not trying to linger around them and make this harder for Luna, but as I leave the lounge with Farrow, I hear Korey reply, “Why not?” He’s joining the party, then.

I double-step down the stairs. Farrow is fast with me. “Don’t worry about Korey.” He pops another bubble. “We’re cock-blocking the fuck out of him.”

My grin explodes across my face. More brightness flooding me, and I sling an arm around my friend’s shoulders. “Knew tonight would be dope.”

“You did not.”

“I do now.”





Neon green strobe lights sweep the packed dance floor while a DJ plays mashups of 80s, 90s, and early 2000 classics. Go-go dancers dressed as Tinker Bell dance in vine-spindled cages.

Green shades everyone, everything, and all my friends are dancing in the pit while Korey with a K struggles to buy a drink at the packed bar. Farrow gave him a fifty and asked him to get Luna a vodka Fizz.

Oscar added three more drinks to the order.

Name better wingmen. No one can.

Jack has been filming our group dancing together and snapping photos on his Canon. I mug the camera, rubbing my nipples and then forming a finger V, tongue wagging between them.

He laughs and spins the lens onto Farrow and Maximoff who are eye-fucking in a handsy dance. Then the camera goes to Oscar. His husband is vibing with A Night at the Roxbury head-bang.

“You did matchmake someone!” Luna shouts at Eliot over the music. They’ve stopped dancing, watching Talia (she’s the real Talia Simone, I’ve learned) grind against Cody.

“The wrong ones!” Eliot shouts back.

“It’s something!”

At least Tom and Eliot haven’t caught on to me liking Luna. It’s bad enough so many people are keeping the secret about how I went down on her.

Thatcher and Jane.

Farrow and Maximoff.

Oscar and Jack.

Akara, Banks, Sulli—the list kept growing over the years, and it has to stop there or else her dad really might find out.

He’s not here now.

He’s not even in my head. I grin over at Luna while I bob my head to the beat. She grins back, bouncing on her toes.

I point at the ceiling as the music switches to an 80s song. I bounce over to her, singing the song, already drenched in sweat. Eliot squeezes through the crowds to go find Tom.

Luna jumps with me, hair tossing every which way. I peel my shirt over my head, spinning the fabric.

She pumps her arms in the air, left and right, and shimmies her shoulders.

We go from dancing in the pit to bouncing towards the amps where fewer people stand. Music blasting too hardcore, but she catches on to the lyrics and starts singing with me. Bass thumps beneath my feet, through my bloodstream, and we’ve drawn closer. I catch her hand while she slides beneath my legs and nearly slips on spilt liquor.

But I easily lift her upside down. I’m strong but she’s gangly and small-boned for her height.

She splits her legs open. Leather pants tight on her ass, and while my face is near her leather-clad pussy, her face is near my jean-clad crotch. With matched grins, I bounce Luna to the beat of 80s rock upside down.

She laughs while I spin her upright, and her legs fit around my waist.

Luna bobs on my dick, her fist in the air, and I’m taken back to Scotland for a second. Where we danced just like this together.

Friends.

I don’t even want to be there. I want to be here. Something more than what we were. Something I know we shouldn’t strive for, but I’m just genuinely happy—and I’m not letting her dad take this moment from me.

When I drop Luna to her feet, I spin her a couple times, and we both slip on the wet floor, and we fall to the dirtied ground together. Backs to the hard cement, breathing heavily, our heads are turned to each other. Dyed in neon green light, I think I’ve landed on her planet.

Where I’m at a certain peace.

She leans closer to ask, “What was that song?!”

“You’ve never heard it?!”

She shakes her head.

“Scorpions!” The music changes to a Vitamin C song, and I don’t shout as much. “‘No One Like You.’”

“You like them?”

“Love ‘em. I’ve got a tattoo in tribute.”

“Where?” She frowns, unsure if she’s seen it.

While we’re still lying on the ground—just being stepped over and not stepped on (I’m not letting a single foot step on her)—I unbutton my pants and tug an inch of my boxer-briefs down.