The Play (Briar U, #3)(78)

After the ass-kicking, we meet up with Dean in the lobby. “I’m just coordinating with the other teachers about getting the girls back to the hotel,” he says. “I gotta ride the bus with them, but I want to go out afterward. I can meet you guys somewhere.”

“You don’t have to stay with the girls?” Garrett asks.

“God no. Parent chaperones, baby. I’ve done my job, and now I need to get the fuck out. I’ve been surrounded by teenage girls for the past two days.” Yet he says it jokingly, and I know he’s proud of his team’s performance this weekend. “You in?”

“Where are you thinking?” Demi asks him.

“Hmmm. Well, Saturdays are Latin night at the Exodus Club.”

She rolls her eyes. “Why did you look at me when you said that? Because I’m Latina?”

He rolls his eyes back. “No, because you asked me the question, baby doll. So what do you say?”

Demi glances at me with an unspoken Can we?

“Sure.” I shrug. “Why the hell not.”





Hannah Wells meets us outside the club. There’s a line down the block to get in, but Dean has no qualms about striding to the bouncer and dropping a name in his ear. Dude, you can’t make Garrett Graham wait in line, I suspect he’s saying. And a second later we’re waved past the velvet rope.

Our little group follows a nearly pitch-black corridor toward the sounds of thumping bass and Spanish guitar. There’s a coat check at the end of the hall, which we make use of, handing over our winter gear.

“So I hear your songwriting career has taken off,” I tease Hannah with a smile.

“I’m doing okay,” she says modestly.

“You were in the studio with Delilah Sparks tonight. That’s more than okay.”

“Right? I can’t even. It’s still so surreal.”

When we enter the club, an array of strobe lights assaults my vision. The music blares and the temperature is scorching. Three seconds in, and I’m already sweating through my Under Armour T-shirt.

Demi links her arm through mine. “Do you salsa, Monk?”

“Nope.” She’s wearing a skimpy tank top, and the heat of her body sears into me. Christ. I wish she’d never kissed me. I’ve been horny as fuck ever since.

“Let’s grab some drinks,” Garrett suggests.

“Shots?” Logan says hopefully.

“One shot.”

“C’mon, G, we’ve got four days off. Let’s take advantage.”

Garrett throws a muscular arm around his long-time girlfriend. “Oh, trust me.” He winks. “I’ll be taking advantage of it.”

Hannah grins.

They do one round of shots, but I abstain. I’m the DD, so I want to keep a clear head tonight. What if we get pulled over again? What if this time Demi decides to suck my dick in the car for real?

A man can hope.

We spend the next few minutes shouting to each other over the music. When the current song changes, Demi shrieks in delight. It’s “Despacito,” the Bieber version, and the entire club goes wild.

“Come salsa with me,” she begs, tugging on my arm. “This is my song!”

“Nope,” I say firmly. “I don’t salsa.”

“I do,” Dean announces, holding out his hand.

“You salsa?” She gawks at him before turning to me. “He’s beautiful and he salsas? What on earth am I doing here with you?”

She’s joking, but I still glare at her. “He’s taken.”

“Super taken,” Dean confirms. “But I’m a salsa master thanks to my girl. Allie-Cat and I took lessons.”

Demi takes his hand, and I swallow a sigh as I watch them saunter toward the dance floor.

“She’s cool,” Logan tells me.

“I know. We’re good friends.”

“Just friends?”

I shrug. “She got out of a relationship a month ago.”

“So?”

I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a hasty sip. I’m not sure why I put that out there. Then I shift my gaze to the dance floor and almost choke on my water.

Goddamn Dean. Since when does he salsa dance? And he looks damn good doing it. Dean might’ve skipped out on law school to become a gym teacher, but the man still oozes money. He’s wearing khakis and a crisp white shirt, its top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His blond hair falls onto his forehead as he spins Demi around as if they’re on Dancing with the Stars.

“Check out that footwork,” Garrett marvels.

They’re even drawing stares from the other dancers. Demi’s in leggings, leather boots, and a red tank, but the way her hips are moving, I can totally envision her in a bright sundress and high heels, the ones with straps that wrap around a woman’s ankles. Maybe a flower in her hair. Red lipstick painted on those pouty lips.

Annnnd now I’m acting out my own salsa-themed porno in my head. Which Dean brings to life when he lifts one of her legs and props it on his hip, and they do a sexy little grinding move before he spins her around again. Demi’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with joy. Dean whispers something in her ear and she starts giggling.

Jealousy constricts my throat. Obviously I’m being ridiculous. There’s always chemistry when two hot people are dancing, it’s inevitable. But the sight of Dean’s hands on Demi’s body makes my blood boil.