Same Time Next Year

She’d hold her ground. And I’d want to put myself in the ground.

Britta takes a few minutes to drain her drink before finally standing, like the rest of the crowd. Her movements are fluid and sensual, her hands smoothing extra slowly down the front of her dress, palms sliding over the curves of her ass, presumably to get out the wrinkles.

Lord have mercy.

Before I can ask her why she hates me, a new song comes on that sends the audience into a tailspin. A hit, maybe? Britta seems to like it if throwing her arms up over her head is any indication. The way she begins to circle her hips without moving the upper half of her body rekindles the fire in my stomach that we stoked earlier with that kiss. She tips back her head, and light from the stage spills over the smooth curve of her throat, her cleavage, those hips still working, grinding. And her hands in the air means her skirt is too high on her thighs for my sanity. When she moves a certain way, I can see the outline of her thong through the material, and my dick throbs in response.

I’m sure this makes me a caveman, but I do not like other men seeing her like this. With that blissful look on her face, her hips moving like they might if she was riding somebody. A hot streak of jealousy moves my feet

before I register my own actions, and I position myself behind Britta, blocking her from the rest of the mezzanine. And that might handle some of the jealousy, but now I’m looking right down at that ass, that thong outline so close to my dick, her smooth, exposed back, and my hunger elevates to a dire level.

I put a possessive hand on her hip, just in case people haven’t figured out who she came with and who she’s leaving with. “Whose seducing who now?” I say, just above the curve of her neck, inhaling her cherry-lime scent, my hand beginning to massage her hip.

God, I want to fuck her so bad.

“I’m dancing, Sum.” She blinks up at me over her shoulder with mock innocence. “If I was seducing you, you’d know it.”

I grip her other hip and drag her backward a step, groaning when the tight curve of her ass presses flush against my lap. My cock. “You’ve been seducing me for almost two years, whether you meant to or not.” Those last few words are uttered through gritted teeth because she’s still dancing, giving me all this mind-blowing friction, her flimsy skirt riding up against my denim fly. A standing lap dance that I’m probably not going to survive.

“You’re being cruel, sweetheart.”

“No one is forcing you to stand there and take it.”

No one is forcing me to wrap a forearm around the front of Britta’s hips and yank her up onto her toes, her backside more securely to my lap, either, but here we are, and she’s still, still, grinding on my dick, turning my blood to pure fucking fire. “Careful or you’re going to bust me.”

Thanks to our height difference, I’m looking down the front of her body, noting that her tits are starting to shudder up and down. Her head falls back against my shoulder, and she murmurs, “If your fake wife won’t help you out while your wrist is sprained, who will?”

Goddamn. Help me out, as in, make me come? Still, the words fake wife earn my teeth scraping against the side of her neck, causing her to gasp, her ass jolting in my lap. “Why did you throw away my magazine, Britta?”

“What?” she asks too quickly, her movements slowing slightly. “What magazine?”

I’m not sure if it’s the fact that we’re plastered together so tight that I can hear her thoughts, or if I’ve just been observing this girl long enough to read her mind, but I’m beginning to piece together her behavior. How she

likes me being aroused for her and only her. How she doesn’t want me looking at half-naked women in a magazine. Throw in what I know about how her family broke up . . . and I think the idea of monogamy appeals to her more than she’ll ever admit. But maybe she’s scared to hope for it or believe in it.

And maybe it’s about time I make her.

“Burn the magazine for all I care.” I rub my mouth in the hair above her ear, wrapping my arms around her tight. “You don’t have to stop me from looking at anyone but you, because I don’t want to look in the first place. Put parental controls on my phone, my laptop, block porn sites. Track my location. Lock my dick in a cage. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you realize I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. I’ll make you feel secure until you realize it’s only ever going to be you.”

The pulse at the side of her neck is going a thousand miles an hour.

When she responds, her words are halting. “I’m not . . . asking you for any of that.”

“It’s all on the table, regardless.”

“I think we should go,” she whispers, breaking free of my hold. She stoops down and retrieves her purse, eyes landing on everything but me. We sidestep down the row together, past people singing along with the music.

Did I say the wrong thing to her? Or did I say the right thing, and she’s too scared to accept what I’m offering?

My money is on the latter.

None of that brings me closer to being with Britta for real, though.

Only she can do that.





Chapter Seven





BRITTA


When Sumner pulls up outside my building and puts his truck in park, I unfasten my seat belt and dive out the passenger side door, fumbling my keys with useless fingers. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since we left the concert prematurely. The ride home was dead silent, so he must have heard the incessant beating. It’s going off like gunfire in my ears.

I reach the entrance of my building and hear the driver’s side door slam, too, indicating that Sumner is following me. Walking me home. Like a gentleman. But I really should not let that happen. For one, his unorthodox offer is still jogging around in the forefront of my mind.

Put parental controls on my phone, my laptop, block porn sites. Track my location. Lock my dick in a cage. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you realize I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. I’ll make you feel secure until you realize it’s only ever going to be you.

I’m still in shock over the offer itself, which I would never accept, because that would make me controlling. But Sumner wanting to give me those reassurances felt like a giant gulp of oxygen. There’s no pretending otherwise. And that tells me a lot about myself that I didn’t know this morning. I’m scarred from the nature of my parents’ divorce and my father’s infidelity. I already knew that. But the pure yearning in my chest when Sumner told me it would only ever be me? I didn’t expect that. I didn’t see it coming.

Have I been harboring a secret hope that I could be in a normal, functioning relationship someday? Or has Sumner created that desire in me?

When I see his reflection approaching behind me in the glass door of my building and a ripple carries through my heart, I’m terrified that I have my answer.