Player(42)

I laughed, knowing all too well that he was right and knowing even better that I’d never find another man like him. Not as long as I lived.





17





Clitosaurus Sex





Sam

Val whooped as she jumped into my side and onto my thigh, and I tipped her, dipping her head almost to the ground. Her legs hugged the back of my arm and kicked over my head, her toes pointed at the Edison bulbs overhead.

And all the while, my thirsty eyes drank in the sight of her smiling face.

Her joy, I’d found, was inescapable.

I straightened up and swung her around, putting her feet back on the ground, mourning the loss of her body curled around mine.

That smile, red and lush. I’d watched her put on her lipstick backstage after I proved my point.

Fuck, I would have loved to prove that point again. To relish in her sweet surprise, to experience all the firsts she wanted and the ones she had no idea existed.

Everything about her was perfect, top to bottom.

Especially bottom.

Her skirts twirled when I spun her out, and when she returned to my arms, I reveled in the feeling of her flush against me. A few weeks of dancing together, and our bodies were in perfect sync. She anticipated every move and stepped into it, knowing by the pressure of my hand or shift in my feet which direction we’d go and where I wanted her.

It was a strange comfort, the natural accord that came only from time and practice, trust and partnership.

I’d never experienced togetherness like this before. And, oddly, my only desire was for more.

The thought should have made me uncomfortable. Instead, I found myself smiling at Val, reveling in the sound of her laughter as I flipped her with ease.

The song came to a close, and the band slowed down. Val brushed a loose lock of hair back, her chest heaving and face light.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” she said breathlessly.

“Let me get it. What do you want?”

She laughed. “I’ll grab it on the way back from the ladies’.” Her hand brushed my arm and squeezed my forearm, and then she headed away.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, smiling. Amelia and Katherine swayed together, lost in conversation, oblivious to me. And with nothing to do, I moved for the edge of the dance floor, watching the crowd while I waited.

Their faces were familiar, though I didn’t know their names other than the girls I’d taken home. Jenny in the pineapple-yellow pedal pushers, who made that sweet little moan when I kissed that spot behind her ear. Jana, who had been so nervous, she talked about her cat all night, up until the moment I got my hands on hers. BB with the punk-rockabilly pink hair and all the hidden piercings I’d become so familiar with.

Their eyes brushed over me with a silent request, one they knew would be denied, judging by the look behind them. They said hello when it was appropriate but otherwise kept their distance, abiding the boundaries I’d set from the jump.

And then there were girls like Patrice.

I spotted her platinum hair weaving through people on a direct track for me. And when her eyes came into view, they were set with determination, her red lips curled into a seductive smile.

Predictable.

Patrice and the like were rare in my world—I’d developed a sense for them and learned to avoid them. They were the girls who believed the rules didn’t apply to them. The girls who thought they were different, that they were the exceptions.

They all placed expectations on me, which was the equivalent of chains.

Patrice elbowed her way through the crowd and nearly charged me, hips swinging in black capris, her tailored shirt knotted just above her belly button.

“Hey,” she said, sidling up next to me. “What’s shakin’, Sam?”

“Not much,” I answered, scanning the room for Val. “You?”

“Oh, just the usual. I’ve been looking for a dance, but you’ve been with your new girl nonstop. What’s the story?” she asked, attempting to mask the bite in her words.

“No story. She’s a friend.”

“You’re pretty chummy for friends.”

I swiveled my head to pin her with a glare. “Yeah, we are.”

Her hands rose in surrender, palms out. “I’m not judging. I’m just surprised is all.”

“Why’s that, Patrice?” The question came out bored, but I hid the bite in my words about as well as she had.

“She’s just…not your usual type.”

“I didn’t realize I had a type.”

She squirmed just a little. “You know what I mean.”

“Obviously I don’t.”

“She’s…I dunno. She’s not a small girl. Doesn’t seem very confident either.”

“An hour ago, she was center stage under a spotlight, jumping on my shoulders like a circus performer. How much more confident can she get?”

Patrice blushed but opened her mouth to speak.

I cut her off. “And if you say another word about her size, I swear to God, I’ll make sure you can’t get into Sway for a month. I thought you were better than that, Patrice.”

At that, she blanched. “Fair enough.” Her eyes darted behind me and narrowed. “Ugh, Ian. That’s my cue.”