Page 25 of Second Chance Vacation

“Sure—why not?”

A genuine laugh escapes my lips. I reach up, grabbing her palm as I stand to attention, her dragging me toward the crowded dance floor before I even realize I am moving.

When we reach the sea of sweat and bodies moving together, Gen turns away from me, molding her back to my front. I realize this is standard practice when dancing, but the unfamiliar feeling of her this close still causes me to take pause. Instinctively, like second nature, my palm skates over the exposed flesh of her hip, gripping her in place as she moves against me to the beat of the music.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t react to the sudden contact. At least she doesn’t react in the way I would anticipate. I swear I hear her breath catch in her throat on contact. I am not sure if it is the alcohol strumming through my veins or the bass reducing my senses, but I am bound and determined to find out why.

The music switches from the constant wave of electronic music that has been playing on a loop all night and shifts toward a song I know. I objectively know that a lot of American music is globally successful, but as I hear the familiar sound of Ginuwine’s Pony, I know this has to be a joke. While I am aware that the song is a hit in its own right, most people these days associate it with exotic dancers and the movie Magic Mike.

I look forward and see Savannah standing next to the DJ’s booth. Her focus is on us and, subsequently, my face as I come to the realization of who is responsible. I am thankful that Gen hasn’t noticed the shift in the music, as she would surely go after Savannah for her constantly trying to meddle in our lives.

My attention is taken again by the feeling of Gen’s skin searing into my palm, her flesh warming with each shift of her hips to the beat of the music. I feel her skate her palm over the back of my hand, shifting my hand to under the hem of her top to graze the sensitive skin right under her breasts. I can’t help but groan. I am actively trying to convince myself she is moving me closer so to prevent the nonstop people from stumbling into us as they have been since we hit the dance floor. This effort dies as my attention is shifted, and I feel the blood rush south as she grinds into me harder.

“Viv…” I growl as my lips press to her ear. She knows how she is affecting me, and I am two seconds from losing it.

“What?” The sound of her grin makes it clear that she is trying to play coy, and I can’t tell if that is cute or enraging. Her head lolls back against my shoulder as she moves to the music, intentionally causing more friction with every movement.

“You know what,” I say, the pain in my voice doesn’t falter. “And if you don’t plan to do something about it, please stop.”

“Or what?”

She shifts her hips again, further enforcing the fact that, at this moment, she has me by the balls. Verbally, she is playing coy, but her actions tell me she knows exactly what she is doing.

My lips graze the shell of her ear as I pull her entire back to my front, not leaving a shred of distance. “If you don’t cut it out, I am going to take you into the bathroom, bend you over the counter, and remind you exactly who this body belongs to…because you seem to have forgotten.”

She gasps, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she pulls me closer to her.

I stand there waiting for her to say or do something, but she just stands there until I feel her shift abruptly in my arms to face me. Feeling her breath grazing my neck, I shift to look down at her. Before I can think of something to say, her lips are on mine, but it isn’t soft, and it isn’t sweet.

It’s frenzied. It’s urgent.

I know I should pull away, but as my arms wrap tightly around her waist to pull her closer, I hear the faintest of moans escape her lips, and all remnants of self-control leave my body.

It is a miracle that I can pull away from her long enough to make it to the back hallway of the club. There is only one private bathroom, and for what I have planned, I’m not going to have someone walk in.

The door flings open as Savannah and Wes leave the bathroom, Savannah wiping the remnants of her disheveled lipstick from the edge of her lips.

Of course.

The previously enthusiastic Gen is now staring at Savannah blankly as if her decisions of the past few minutes are finally catching up with her.

“Where are you two going?” Savannah smirks, knowing precisely what we were just doing because she and Wes just did the same.

“N—nowhere. I have to use the bathroom. Jackson was just walking me back here.”

“Yeah.”

My stomach drops at her denial. The moment is over, and I am stuck half-hard in the middle of a crowded club being stared at by my best friend’s girl. The discomfort of the current situation is not lost on me, not even close.

We all just stand there staring at each other as the music halts. Time has gotten away from us, and I am almost positive that is the club’s indicator that our night is over.

“We should, uh, probably get going,” Wes interjects, trying his best to cut the discomfort that has laid a blanket over the four of us.

“Agreed.” Gen nods, avoiding making eye contact with me.

“Yeah, let’s go.” I exhale, watching as Savannah’s clear disappointed expression meets my own.

Me too, Savannah, me fucking too.

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