Page 78 of Never Pucking Ending

“I’m trying to remember who I took. Pretty sure that was the last time I ever slow danced with anybody, but I’m drawing a blank.”

She makes a noncommittal noise. “Are you serious? You don’t remember bringing Brittany Wimble?”

My brows furrow, fighting to put a face to a name. “No. How do you remember?”

Belle looks mystified by my lack of memory of that time. It wasn’t that long ago, but it wasn’t an important enough memory to save.

“Everybody was talking about it,” she says slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. “She was dating the quarterback up until, like, two weeks before prom. Then suddenly she was going with you. She had that godawful poofy dress that was so big it barely fit into the car.”

Now that she mentions it, I do remember a lot of tulle. I’m pretty sure some of it got dragged on the ground after getting stuck in the door and Brittany getting mad about it. “Huh. I do recall Brad glaring at me a lot that night.”

Brad was the quarterback she dated. It slowly starts coming back. Brittany, the cute blond, had been handsy all night. I think she did it to get a rise out of her ex-boyfriend. And I’m pretty sure they wound up going to the after party together.

“Huh,” is all I can say because it’s insignificant now.

“And you’re wrong,” she informs me, bringing my attention back down to her. “The last time you slow danced with somebody was at your cousin’s wedding two years after you graduated high school. Your aunt tried setting you up with a friend’s daughter and made you dance with her, and then I cut in when I saw the way you looked.”

It comes back to me instantly.

The girl Aunt Aimee had introduced to me was all hands, palming my muscles and even my ass, in front of everybody. She told me she had a five-year plan that involved at least three babies and maybe marriage. I looked around as she droned on about it hoping to be saved. Belle, of course, was the one to come to the rescue.

Belle laughs. “She was so mad when I butt in and asked to dance with you. I think she made a voodoo doll and taped my face to it after that.”

We danced all night. Only that one half-song was a slow one, but we didn’t miss any of the others. She pulled me onto the dance floor and made me dance to everything from the Harlem Shake to Gangnam Style. And I obliged.

“You have a good memory,” I comment, huffing out a laugh. “I wonder if she ever got her marriage and kids.”

Not that I particularly care if she did if I’m being honest with myself.

“That was a fun night,” Belle says, still looking up at me. “I remember trying not to blush when we slow danced, and people watched. I thought somebody would tell us to find other partners because we were inseparable.”

We were. “I would have told them to fuck off if they had suggested it.”

For a second, she looks like she’s trying to believe me. Then she gets on her tiptoes, and I meet her halfway to press a kiss to her lips. What I think is meant to be a quick peck turns into something a little deeper.

I explore her mouth with mine, backing us up until her butt meets the edge of the counter. Then I lift her by the waist and set her down on top of it and wedge myself between her thighs.

It’s a slow exploration. Hardly as desperate or as heated as the ones we shared the first time. I lick the seam of her lips and feel my cock twitch when she opens for me, letting my tongue glide in and trace hers. Her arms go to my neck as she angles her head to deepen it, arching her hips forward to rub against me.

I moan into her mouth and reach for her breast when we hear a voice clear from behind us. I’m quick to pull away, shielding her from whoever walked in. Belle must have left the door unlocked when she let me in.

Dane is standing there looking red in the face as he studies me, then at Belle still sitting on the counter. “Oh.”

Well…shit.

Belle quickly gets done, flattening out her shirt. “Dane. Hi. Hey.” She sounds breathy, and I’d feel a little cocky if I didn’t see the mortification on her face from getting caught.

Dane clears his throat again, studying the two of us before adjusting the piece of wood tucked under his arm. “Is this a bad time? I can come back. I should probably come back. Sorry—”

“No!” she blurts, stepping forward. “No. I’m sorry. We ate lunch and were waiting for the paint to dry and…”

She stops trying to explain because nothing about that justifiable leads up to us making out on the counter. Grabbing her phone, she pauses the music and offers him a smile. It’s stiff, still embarrassed, and I feel like shit. I hadn’t meant for anybody to walk in on us.

Dane looks like he’s trying to figure out what to say, and I feel like I need to defuse the situation somehow. “Sorry, man. I distracted her from work. Is that the wood for the shelves?”

He looks down at the board like he’d forgotten why he came in the first place. Thankfully, he takes the bait. “Yeah. This is what I’m thinking would work best for the shelves. I started making one of them and have photos to show you, Belle.”

He’s cautious as he walks into the store, setting the wood down on the counter that Belle was just sitting on. I debate on whether to stay or not, not wanting to get even more in the way than I already am but also not wanting to ditch her to an uncomfortable conversation and make her deal with it alone.