Page 15 of What We Broke

But now we’re in the smooth part of our lives. We have a solid foundation when it comes to both our friendship and our roles as co-parents. The platonic and familial love we share makes life effortless. It’s the best case scenario when it comes to our “situation” and it’s one I also know is both a rarity and a privilege.

“I fucking hate you.”

She winks and blows me an exaggerated kiss. “Not even close, baby.”

“Zara!” a chorus of voices shouts, interrupting our conversation. We both look across the table and catch a group of her friends pushing through the growing crowd of people and dancing to the music toward us.

Zara slaps a hand on my thigh. “I’m going to go meet them on the dance floor and save you from having to engage in any conversation.”

Throwing an arm around her neck, I squash her to me, planting an exaggerated kiss on her temple and then pushing her out of the booth. “Go. Have fun.”

Laughing, she slides herself out and heads over to her friends.

I keep them in my line of sight, until flailing hands and arms catch my attention.

My gaze follows the interruption, landing on a slender man dressed in a baby blue, collarless linen shirt, tucked neatly into his white chinos. The first three buttons are undone, showing off a gold chain that sits gracefully against his smooth-looking chest and making my mouth water.

He is beautiful.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his three-quarter-length pants stop right at his ankles. With his bronzed skin and light-brown curls that fall into his face, he looks like he should’ve been on a million-dollar yacht, basking in the Mediterranean sun.

He’s also the worst dancer I’ve ever laid eyes on, but Jesus Fucking Christ is he beautiful.

His tall, lean body jars and jolts awkwardly with every deafening beat of the music. And even uncoordinated and out of sync as he is, I can’t take my eyes off him.

Following his every movement, my gaze travels from the tips of his fingers, down to the shoes on his feet. Taking inventory of the way this attractive, well-dressed, yet heavy-footed, man looks so perfect and at ease in his own skin. His carefree smile lights up his whole face, the lines at the corners of his eyes make him look well lived. Well loved.

I can’t remember the last time I saw someone looking so happy. It makes me want to be close to him. I want to know all the reasons his smile is so big.

Amidst his crazy dancing, the beautiful stranger loses his footing, and another man’s arms grab him around the waist, steadying him, and an unwarranted twinge of jealousy coils tightly inside my stomach.

It’s ridiculous. I don’t know him and he doesn’t even know I exist.

I watch the two men interact, trying to work out if they are lovers or just friends. They are definitely familiar with one another and comfortable in each other’s presence, but there isn’t anything that gives me a definitive answer.

Both men are the same height. If I needed to guess, I would say they’re just under six feet, which is shorter than my six foot three. And as the music changes to something less poppy and more seductive, the men gravitate toward one another and start to sway, sensually, to the different beat.

My new infatuation turns in his friend’s arms so his back is resting on the other man’s front. He’s no longer the laughing, gangly-armed, dancing man.

The music shifts the mood, the air thick with sex and tension as the dance floor overflows with bodies grinding up on each other.

They’re too close now, his friend gripping his hips tightly and rolling into him.

I try to drag my eyes away, leaving them be, but when his eyes lock with mine, all bets are off.

I wait to see if he holds my stare, hoping that even with another man’s hands on him, it isn’t at all what it looks like.

They continue to dance together, but when his gaze remains on my face and the side of his mouth tips up in almost a smirk, I decide I really don’t care who he’s here with.

Too enamored to worry about anyone or anything else around me, I stand, making my way out of the corner booth where I’m seated. I don’t miss the way his eyes follow me, hungrily tracking the length of my body.

If I didn’t have confirmation before, I have it now.

He’s interested.

Playing it cool, I decide to get a drink, but I keep him in my line of sight. Finding a small opening, I squeeze my body between two groups of people and rest my forearm atop the marble bar.

I have the perfect view.

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