Addicted After All(59)

He’s always been able to move like no one is watching, like no one can harm him in this brief expanse of time.

In his last year of college, before he was expelled, he refused to dance with me. Every single time. He sat at the bar and said dance by yourself when I asked.

It didn’t always used to be like that.

So seeing him, right now, dancing in the middle of the club, with no alcohol in his clutch—it possesses me in ways that I can’t express. It’s like my soul is alive. Like I’ve woken up from a long, long sleep.

I slowly walk towards him, and he holds out his hand, waiting for me to near and take it.

I do.

And he draws me swiftly to his chest, my breath escaping. His hips begin to move with mine, so sensually that a heat builds across my skin.

I flourish beneath his intoxicating eyes, drinking him in completely.

He twirls me, and I hit his chest again, my feet following his in a steady pace. It’s our bodies, melded together, that stirs every part of me.

I’m not letting go.

After a few minutes, the song dies down, and we ease to a slower sway. I want to hear his answer, even if it doesn’t make much sense now that we’re moving to the music. I grow the courage to ask anyway, “Will you dance with me?” For some reason, I still fear that rejection, the familiar response that always comes.

He cups my round face, his fingers lost in my hair, and his lips curve. Very softly, he says, “Yes, love. I’ll dance with you.”





{ 18 }

LOREN HALE



“Husbands can’t choose wives, boyfriends can’t choose girlfriends and vice versa.” Poppy sets out the parameters of the game as she sips a rum and Fizz. After claiming the leather couches by the wall, we decided to pay for VIP bottle service for Poppy, Daisy, Connor, and Sam. Anything is better than dealing with the shit bartender. Even playing truth or dare, which usually ends with someone throwing a fit.

Lily sits on my lap, her skin coated in a sheen of sweat from dancing earlier. It was a really good time. I missed it more than I realized.

I hold her to my chest, satisfied with the fact that we can’t disappear and ditch our friends and family. This, right here, feels close to perfect.

Sam cautiously glances at all the locals who snap pictures of us, some even film us from their bar stools. “Can we play this game some other time?” he asks us. “I really don’t want to have to call Fizzle’s publicists in the morning to clean up whatever happens tonight.”

He’s the head marketing guy or whatever at Fizzle. “Sammy,” I say with the tilt of my head, “I get that being a chaperone is so deep within your pores that no facial strips can remove it, but we’re not ten.”

Connor rephrases, “We’re all used to being filmed. Some more intimately than others.” His voice is conversational, not bitter. I’d be causing hell if sex tapes of Lily and me were circulating through porn sites. I get that Connor has taken the publicity to his advantage, but this type of invasion of privacy has to be eating at Rose. It’s been over a year since the first tape was released, and last I heard, there are now five online.

At his comment, Rose tenses and crosses her arms. “No one is allowed to mention the sex tapes until I can have a glass of wine.” Her head whips to her husband. “That includes you.”

“I was making a point,” Connor says casually.

“Make it when I’m not in the room,” she retorts.

They start bickering in French, and I tune them out. At the other end of my couch, Ryke slings his arm around Daisy’s waist and she rests her cheek on his shoulder. When Lily and I finished dancing, both Daisy and Ryke were missing. Poppy explained how they snuck off to the bathroom. To f*ck.

Clearly.

It’s not as uncomfortable with them returning as I thought it’d be. Maybe because they’re not on top of each other—like Lily is with me. We’ll forever take the PDA championship title, I realize. What’s scary is that when we were just friends, we were always touching too.

It’s hardwired into us. I pull her further against my chest, and her breathing shallows. I watch her take a trained inhale and exhale to control her urges. I rub her arm in comfort. She’s doing well.

Sam clutches a vodka soda. “Let’s just try to keep it classy.”

Connor says, “Truth or dare by nature is juvenile. If you’re looking for a posh game, we should break out chess or Scrabble. However, you won’t beat my wife and you certainly won’t beat me. So the level of fun, for you, isn’t that high. I’d enjoy it though.” He grins.