Page 12 of Pretend I'm Yours
“Yes,” he says in anof coursemanner.
“Then, no thanks. I want to dance.” I drop a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar, then scoot away from Uncle Declan to join the line dancers. I get in maybe five steps before the song fades into a much slower tune meant for dancing with a partner. “Dangit.”
Uncle Declan approaches, rubbing one hand over the other, ready to bargain. “If I dance one song with you, then will you come home?”
Swaying my hips, I tell him, “Make it four, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Two,” he says flatly.
I lift my chin. “Five.”
He points his finger at me. “That’s not how negotiating works.”
“I don’t care. Now it’s six. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine,” he says grumpily.
“You just bought yourself another song, mister.”
He groans. “Fine, seven songs. But now I need a drink.” He laces his fingers between mine, and I happily follow him, giddy to have gotten my way. We both sling back a shot of tequila at the bar before taking our place on the dance floor.
At first, Uncle Declan is stiff, barely shuffling his boots, but two songs and another shot later, he’s finally getting into it, no longer keeping me literally at arm’s length. By the fifth song, we’re both sweaty, and he spins me around with our hands linked above my head, finishing with my back to his chest. His hot breath and mustache flutter across my neck when he sweeps my hair to the side, giving my overheated skin goosebumps.
“Just like that, sugar,” he rumbles as I roll my hips from side to side. We’re still dancing, same as the rest of the crowd—nothing too lewd—but each movement I make is slow and exaggerated so I can grind my ass against the distinctive, hard bulge behind his zipper.
All is going exceedingly well by the sixth song—Uncle Declan’s arms are now wrapped around me, his fingers pushed under the hem of my T-shirt at my waist, his cowboy hat granting us privacy as his lips trail across my jaw while he leads me around the dance floor—until two guys, who look like their jobs are to drink for a living, swing at each other, both knocked on their asses. Then their friends jump into the action, and it quickly devolves into an all-out brawl.
“Time to go,” Uncle Declan says, and I don’t resist when he pushes me ahead of him out of the bar into the balmy night, bringing an abrupt end to what had been one of the best nights of my adult life. “Did you drive?”
I shake my head, having paid for a ride since I knew I would be drinking.
Though Uncle Declan had cut himself off and switched to water after the second shot, he still pulls up his ride-share app, and we wait on the sidewalk facing the street, watching the deputies speed down the road and swarm the bar to break up the fight.
Uncle Declan lets go of my hand, quick to put a few feet between us, when our driver arrives at the curb with their hazard lights flashing in a nondescript gray sedan that neither of us recognizes. The driver, however, we both do.
“Thought that was you,” Uncle Kason says through his rolled-down window, shooting Uncle Declan a questioning look before he gives me a warm smile. “Hey, there, honey.”
I’d be genuinely happy to see him if it weren’t for how uncomfortable Uncle Declan is now, turning cold on me.
“Hey, Uncle Kason.” I give him a short wave instead of running to him and throwing myself into his strong arms as I normally would. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
He nods. “Just got back this morning and crashed. Slept damn near fifteen hours.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask, hurt since it’s rare that he doesn’t let us know when he’s coming home, so what’s changed? Was it the spankings? My cheeks heat at the memory of him tugging down my shorts and what other secret games we might have played if Arjun hadn’t come home.
“Well, it was supposed to be a surprise,” Uncle Kason says, and I hope he’s telling the truth. That he isn’t keeping his distance from me, too, as if I have some kind of contagious, infectious disease.
“Sorry to ruin it,” I say with a pout.
Uncle Kason says, “You couldn’t ruin anything if you tried, hon.”
Uncle Declan clears his throat and opens the back passenger door. Instead of following me into the back seat, where I settle in the middle, he plops down in the front, resting his cowboy hat in the middle of his lap.
Uncle Kason slides a look to Uncle Declan while waiting for us to buckle our seat belts. “Thought I was picking up you and a date when the app said the ride was for two.”
“And I thought some lady named Saanvi was supposed to be our driver,” Uncle Declan grumbles.
Uncle Kason sucks his teeth. “My roommate’s cousin caught a stomach bug, but I knew she could use the extra money for school, so I took the job for her.”
