If her smile as she led me upstairs was any indication, I might have to change her nickname. Going up the stairs behind her could give any straight man a heart attack. Her red high heels gave way to toned calves, glorious thighs, and short leopard print shorts that enhanced her curves. Somewhere out there was an ex-boyfriend with her likeness tattooed somewhere on his body. She was the kind of sexy that begged to be immortalized.
Upstairs was more crowded than the section we’d just left, but there were still couches and mismatched furniture that gave it the same relaxed vibe. There was the main dance floor, and then a second one that was raised up a few feet and featured b-boys freestyling while a crowd of onlookers cheered.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. I was getting accustomed to interpreting her breathing. There was the “I’m about to breathe fire” inhale, the “anything involving her mother” inhale, and my personal favorite, the “just been kissed” inhale. As she entered the dance floor, though, her breath was reminiscent of the way she sang. She was relaxed here. Her arms snaked above her head, and her ripped white tee raised to show a strip of skin above her shorts. The last time I’d seen her lower back, it had been covered in bandages and bruises. Now, more than a week later, only the faintest hint of healing scratches remained behind. From here, her skin looked smooth, and I could see the dimples at the bottom of her spine.
A few people slid between us, and I missed the view. She turned, and her eyes found mine. She crooked a finger at me and smiled.
That was the moment I knew for sure that I hadn’t been in love with Bliss. I couldn’t have been. Because at that moment, nothing could have kept me from going to Max, not even if Bliss had been on the other side calling me, too. I moved through the crowd until she was in my reach. She was twisting and turning and singing along to a song I’d never heard. She ran her hands down her sides to her thighs, and one side of her tee slipped over her shoulder. I wanted to replace the hands on her thighs with my own.
“I’m waiting, Golden Boy!”
Watching her was appealing, but touching her was irresistible. She was even more electric than the music that pulsated around us. I stepped forward right when she rolled her body from her chest down through her hips. When she went to repeat the move, I matched her. Our chests brushed, and she bit her lip.
Every theatre major in college had to take dance classes, and every day in warm-up the professor made us practice isolating different parts of our bodies. The purpose had been to stretch, not dance, but the ability transferred well to this kind of techno music.
Max danced the same way she sang . . . with complete abandon. I just followed her, keeping our bodies close and matching her movements. She tossed her hair and started to circle around me.
The music changed to something a little slower. I slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her into me. Our hips locked together, and I placed a hand on her hip to guide her into a circular motion. My thigh fitted between hers and hers between mine until we were as close as we could possibly get. She rolled her body to one side, and I leaned the opposite direction.
The air around us was warm and sticky with sweat. She rocked her hips into mine, and I had to clench my teeth to keep in a groan. Moving with her was amazing, but every once in a while she would move in a way I didn’t expect. Our hips were so tightly pressed that the friction her movements caused had me seeing stars.
I pressed her backward, and with zero hesitation and no self-consciousness, she dropped her head and body backward in a dip. I kept her steady with an arm around her waist. With her body leaned back, I got a clear view of her tight stomach, the black bra beneath her white shirt, and the delicate column of her neck. I couldn’t resist reaching out and running my hand from the front of her throat around the back. I cradled her neck in my hand, and used it to propel her back up to me. She wrapped both arms around my neck, so that her chest was pressed tightly against mine. I simplified our movements because being pressed against her was better than any dance move that would have moved us apart.
I could feel the sweat collecting on my skin, and it glistened on hers, too. I kept one hand curved around her neck and the other ran in a loop from her thigh up to her rib cage. I sighed, wishing that I could freeze this moment, wishing that we were somewhere else. Her face was level with my neck, and her forehead pressed into my jaw. Her breath on my neck was an exquisite torture.
I thought briefly about this being an unwise decision, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I knew from the first time I saw her with Mace that they meant nothing to each other. There was no gravity between them, not like there was between us. No matter how hard we tried to keep ourselves apart, we always wound up right back here.
I thought I had that kind of pull with Bliss, but now I could see that I was wrong. We would have been perfect together, another notch in my pursuit of the “right” life. That’s what I was in love with . . . not my friend. Bliss had been exactly what I thought I’d wanted. A friendship evolved into something more. Loving and kind. Sweet and safe.
Max scared me shitless.