Page 105 of The Mistakes I've Made
It was like watching a butterfly take flight for the first time.
Her smile was dazzling as she walked with the confidence of a tiger onto center stage, just waiting for the music to begin, waving to little girls in the front row, while I stood there like a deer in headlights, just staring at her.
We’d both joked at how ridiculous we’d look onstage—me still in my Blackbeard costume and her now looking like a Polynesian goddess, dressed in a white bikini and a flowery print sarong tied around her waist—but the truth was, I could have been wearing anything next to her, and it wouldn’t have mattered.
She’d steal the stage regardless.
And that point was proven the moment the music began, and I discovered just how much her mother had taught her all those years ago.
I knew I was supposed to dance or do something. This, after all, was a couple’s competition. But all I could do was watch her. The mesmerizing way her hips moved to the drumbeat and the sensual sway of her hands. I’d never really understood the idea of hula dancing—how a person could tell a story with movement. But watching her made me a believer.
I loved every moment, and the crowd did, too, breaking into a fury of noise when the routine was over.
Jumping into my arms, she exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, that was fun! I think they liked us!”
“I think they loved you!” I corrected her as she gave one final wave as we headed offstage. I pressed her against the nearest wall, her breath still heavy from dancing. “What would you say if I dragged you back to my place and we skipped the rest of the performances?”
A devilish grin appeared across her face. “But what about my crown?” she asked.
“There is no crown, babe. Just a gift card to Billy’s, and honestly, I don’t think I can make it much longer after seeing you up there like that.”
She looked incredulous. “You mean, I did all that, and I don’t even get a damn crown?!”
Laughing, I pulled her toward the door. “Hey Dean, we forfeit. Enjoy your shrimp salad!”
I heard a chuckle from my brother as we made a run for it. I was thankful my house was only a block away because we were tearing at each other’s clothes before we even reached the front door.
“Are you sure there aren’t any blondes in there?” she joked the second I fished out my key.
“Funny,” I said, unlocking the door with one hand. The other was shoved under her bikini top, about to make a serious wardrobe malfunction if I didn’t get us inside.
“I want you to dance for me like that every day,” I said, pushing us both past the threshold.
“Okay,” she wholeheartedly agreed.
“But, right now, I just want to fuck you against this door.”
“God, yes.”
Slamming the door shut, I did just that, shoving her skirt up high on her waist as her finger worked the button on my pants. Our breaths were heavy, our hearts wild and our touches frantic, as we reached for each other, knowing what we craved most was just moments away.
Thankful she was wearing a bikini and not that ridiculously long dress anymore, I pushed aside the small strip of white fabric, and with one powerful thrust, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
I took her hard and fast, both of us needing that release more than we needed air in our lungs. When we were sated and spent, I carried her to my bedroom, and I fell asleep with her cradled in my arms, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.
But then morning came, and reality set in when I awoke to the smell of bacon.
In or out, Taylor?
The unanswered question loomed once again in my mind.
“You look like shit, little brother,” Dean said as I marched into work later that morning.
I gave him a look as I grabbed my morning coffee. “You know, you say that a lot.”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it if you look like shit all the time. Late night?”
Dumping half the container of creamer into my cup, I snapped back at him, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
