Page 80 of Free to Judge
“Depends on what you consider worse,” he mutters.
“Spill it.” I press.
“I told you they all like to dance on tables,” Jon reminds me with a combination of mortification, love, and amusement.
“All?” My head snaps in the direction of the door. The image of my fiery, irreverent woman—and it strikes me in the chest that I just claimed her as mine—takes my breath away. Suddenly, I’m painfully aware of the stir in my groin—a reaction that keeps getting worse every time we’re together.
She is going to dance on a table?
Fuck my life.
“All of them. It’s like they—” he starts, but his explanation evaporates as I catch sight of Kalie through a nearby window.
Holy. Shit. All the blood in my body has made its way to my dick. I’m not even certain if my heart’s pumping blood anywhere else.
One of her impossibly long legs is drawn up gracefully against the side of her body. Then she trails her fingers deliberately, tantalizingly down a path over her thigh.
I recall nearly having a heart attack earlier when Kalie stepped into the room wearing her yoga pants, and now I understand exactly why. Each and every move pulls the thin material taut against her ass, proving she’s either bare beneath or the scrap of nothing is so small I can rip it off with my teeth.
I’m not certain which I’m hoping for.
With a fluid spin, she presses her hand against the wall. Her hips sway as though every movement were a deliberate challenge to gravity itself. Throughout this shockingly sensual display, she’s nonchalantly munching on a decadent brownie as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Uncertain of how my feet are able to move, I stumble toward the door.
I vaguely hear Jon call out, “Just remember, it’s your funeral.” His smartass voice is swallowed by Rhianna as she drowns out everything else in the room.
Inside, chaos reigns. The living room has transformed into a bizarre dance floor. It’s not just Kalie but all the women—and, Christ, Uncle Phil—are dancing on tables. Laughter overrides the pulsating music. If their partners are on a table, the men are beneath it. But what stops me in my tracks is catching sight of Keene—Mr. Stick Permanently Glued Up My Ass—spinning his delighted wife around on the dance floor when the song changes to one by Kelsea Ballerini.
I’d wonder what was baked in those brownies but then, as if by magnetic force, my eyes lock with Kalie’s again. Up on a table, she glows with the kind of happiness I could never imagine being able to give her. Her spirit challenges the universe with every step, her presence defiant and intoxicating. In that moment, every guarded part of me softens; I can’t tear my eyes away.
I never want to.
She might be a firebrand, but she’s the fire my soul needs to burn.
Jon’s voice comes over the cacophony, his tone rough but enthusiastic. “I told you it gets crazy!”
I just nod, unable to tear my eyes away from Kalie.
“You keep an eye on her.”
I never want to move them away.The thought is as truthful as it is terrifying. I force my way through the crowd, each step drawing me closer to her. I know this is a train wreck waiting to happen, but I can’t slow my movement down.
A part of me doesn’t want to.
With her arm draped casually around Laura’s shoulder and another of their cousins by her side, Kalie tilts her head back as she erupts into a wild, joyous whoop. She spins gracefully, each movement exuding the same recklessness that leaves no trace of regret or restraint. My heart hammers in my chest as I shorten the distance between us.
The moment our eyes meet, she leaps down from her perch recklessly—a mix of trust and daring that makes me want to give her everything and take off in the opposite direction because I’m terrified of what will happen to her.
What will I do if something happens to her? The weight of the potential scenario slams into me even as she drags me closer to her parents. For now, for this moment, I’ll let her have her way and just be free.
Even if I know nothing is.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Returningto my home after family dinner, I’m still dancing around the living room, high on the energy of the night. The echo of my own laughter fills the empty house as I float from room to room, glancing at my phone every other second.
Declan hadn’t stayed long once we’d gotten back to my place, and part of me wonders if I scared him off by being a littletoo much, a little too demanding, a little too Marshall. I pause and rest my head against the wall, letting out a soft groan of frustration. The moment we walked in the door, I’d looped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his. He returned my kiss with the same fervor that matched the night until I surged against him, so damn ready for him to take it further.
