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“Misery loves company. That class was so sneaky. The ‘intro’ part made me think it’d be easy. It was one of the hardest classes I ever took. It sucked.”
“Well, yeah, going through that course was miserable. But if I remember correctly, we both ended up with an A. And a better understanding of how to write and what we had to say. Maybe…hell, maybe we need to feel what we’re feeling right now to come out stronger on the other side.”
Hank’s started to play some songs. Sitting up there with just his guitar, he’s doing acoustic covers of everything from Lady Gaga to The Who. He’s actually pretty good.
“So now that we’ve established that therapy is a gift from God and Prince Alberts are pleasurable for our partners—”
“The world blew smoke up your ass for twenty years, Beau. Ever think the women you’ve been with might’ve been lying about how great your penis is?”
“Nope.”
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, even as she grins. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yes. But enough about my dick. Can I get you another drink?”
Her gaze trails up my body as I stand. My pulse ticks up a notch. I ignore that, too, and hold out my hand.
But instead of passing me her mug, she holds out her hand.
“I’m good on the drink. But…” She rises and stands in front of me, whiskey on her lips, hair behind her ears. “I’ll take a dance. What kind do y’all do up here? Line dancing? Cowboy dancing?”
“I don’t rightly know what cowboy dancing is, but I’d be happy to let you ride me, ma’am.”
“Pig.”
“Pony. As in jump on it.”
“Puns were never your strong suit.”
“Saddle’s waitin’, sweetheart.” I gesture rudely at my hips. I’m teasing her this way because if I don’t, I’m worried I’ll pull her close and kiss the shit out of her.
Annabel ignores me and changes the angle of her hand, sliding it into mine. She puts her other hand on my back, just beneath the ball of my shoulder.
“Please just keep your junk in your trunk this time, okay?”
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
Hank bursts into a lively version of the Rolling Stones’ “Beast of Burden” at the same moment. Bel laughs, belly and all, and for a second, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Did you plan this?” she asks.
I’m laughing, too, as I pull her around to face me.
“I wish.”
“The universe has always been on your side.”
If you only knew how wrong you are on that point.
We dance and we laugh.
I can’t have her. But I can make her smile.
A lick of heat flashes in her eyes as she holds up her arm and watches me duck down to limbo underneath it. The sound of her laughter fills my head, my chest, and every corner of my being.
No longer able to hold back, I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in close. She bites her lip—aw, shit—and sways with me in time to the music. Her hand on my chest starts gliding up my shoulder, over its rounded slope, slowly, slowly, slowly, and I imagine she’s savoring me. Memorizing me, the way I’m currently memorizing the feel of the small of her back. I wanna know what she feels like underneath this jacket, slide my hand inside it, inside her sweater, feel the heat of her skin, how soft and sweet and strong she is.
But instead, I grit my teeth, and somehow, by some miracle, hold myself a little away from her, our bodies brushing but not really touching.
That is, until Hank plays a country cover. The slow song draws the couples around us to come together and start to sway.
Close.
I look at Bel. She looks back and smiles, mostly with her eyes. She’s lit up in a way she wasn’t earlier today.
She’s lit up with me, and only me, and Lord if my heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to barge right through the wall of my chest cavity, Kool-Aid Man style.
Fuck me.
I shouldn’t grab her hand and pull her to me. Closer than before.
But I do.
I shouldn’t curl my fingers around her palm and bring it to my chest as I slip an arm around her waist.
But I do.
I really shouldn’t gather her against my body and start to move us in time to the music. But I fucking do.
Like an idiot, I hold her in my arms and slow dance to a ridiculously romantic—sexy—song. Heaviness gathers low in my belly, my thighs.
I hold her hand in mine against my chest and bend my neck, resting my cheek against her head. There’s an ease to the way our bodies interact. An arousing familiarity, a rightness. The air between and around us vibrates with energy.
After a while, I can’t tell who’s holding whom.
Maybe we’re holding each other.
Maybe being held is what we both need.
