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He waits, his deep blue eyes studying me. This is Brody. Always kind. Always accommodating. Always patient, sweet, a wall of muscle ready to spring into action on my behalf or provide a barrier when my body needs a break from the world. I whip around. I can’t look at him. Those feelings he keeps hinting at are written on his face.
I step away from his feelings to take a gulp of humid air. Tears prick my eyes. This is my only chance to visit a club. I have to pull myself together. It’s okay if I don’t know how the inside is structured. It’s okay if strangers with their strange, unknown bodies squish up against me. Ten minutes. I’ll go in long enough to dance to one song and get my experience and—
A woman nearby giggles, and I turn around. Brody is dancing, if you can call it that. His stiff legs and awkward body—built for weight-lifting and nothing else—are attempting to shuffle to the erratic beat thumping through the doorway. He focuses on me and not the people around us trying to hide their laughter.
“Where’s my dance partner?” he asks, as if that explains everything.
My skin is still lava, but it’s no longer the flu. It morphs into a calming radiance that soaks deep into my chest. I kick off my flip-flops and shuffle to his side. The frantic beat fills my ears, my skull, every bone and muscle and vein. I’m swallowed by the music. The world fades as my core and body hum. Vibrate. Color and light from nearby signs swirl through me, around me, mixing with the thumping rhythm. I am the music.
We dance. Or I dance and Brody fumbles around. We shuffle. I slow when the beat drops, pumping my chest and head in tempo with the building bass. It builds and builds and builds. The beat explodes. We jump right there on the sidewalk like two people who live only for the music, the rhythm, and the moment. Morning, noon, and night, we live the hashtag EDM life.
Soon, a small group of people join us, a mix of fuzzy rainbow tops and goggles and black face masks that shimmer with light. Someone hands me a glow stick. The bouncer watches us with a frown, like he’s not paid enough to care. The crowd grows until we’re blocking the street and cars honk to get through. We’re one crowd, properly distanced from each other, jumping and flailing our limbs to music that is life, sensation, emotion. Sensation moves through me. Emotions wax and wane. I feel it all, every spark and chemical reaction and pulse of electricity cycling through me. Then I let it go. The song shifts and we all jump and lose our minds again, the cycle repeating.
For the next hour, I’m alive with music. But I’m not alone. Brody is beside me, looking very out of place and awkward.
But he’s beside me.
I reach out my hand and he takes it. I pull away for a few minutes. Shuffle away. Shuffle back. I hold out my hand again. He takes it. I do this five more times. Every time, he takes my hand.
Always be around.
Is that possible?
When I shuffle back a sixth time, he bypasses my hand and pulls me close, hugging my waist. He spins me and then we slow dance in the middle of the chaotic crowd. For once, I don’t mind the feelings written on his face as he kisses my forehead and brushes loose hairs away. I’m overcome with the movement, the emotions flowing in and out of me. I jump into his arms. He holds my hips as my legs wrap around his waist. I kiss him, letting all the emotion and sensation flow out from me and into him. A moment later, it flows right back.
We need to return to the beach. Right. Now.
He’s confused as I grab my flip-flops and yank him away from the rave outside the club. “Where are you taking us?” He laughs, struggling to keep up.
I run. He follows. We run down the street past the line of pizza eaters and the drunk voices, down the dark street that’s no longer scary. We run through the parking lot into the sand. He chases me to the water’s edge, and I follow it to the lookout, to a small pier of concrete pillars. I stop to catch my breath, tucking myself into the darkness of a pillar.
He pants beside me. “What are you—”
I tuck my phone in his shirt pocket and then unfasten his belt.
The moon is full, and I watch a shadow slip across his face as his lips part. His hands become as frenzied as mine—unzipping his jeans, pushing me against the pillar, hiking my dress. I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me. His strong biceps bulge, supporting my weight and connecting our hips. After a moment of kissing, he enters me. I sigh. Our bodies have been apart too long.
Hiding his face against my neck, words flow from his mouth like a downpour. He thinks I can’t hear because of the ocean, but I hear. His words scatter in the wind and the crashing waves, but I hear the meaning behind every word.
“Paige…with you…promise…always…I promise…protect you…love you…always love you.”
I lift my chin, so his lips fall against the middle of my neck. More of his feelings spill out. The vibration on my throat is like speaking. Like his words are my own.
I want those words, but what if I’m too damaged? What if I can never say them back?
When the rush fades, he sets me down to kiss me slow, long, deep. A Brody kiss I can’t imagine ever being without. Neither of us came. Neither of us care. Our two bodies connecting was enough.
We kiss until our lips are sore. Then we grin at each other like weirdos. When he holds out his hand to walk me back to the car, I take it.
Chapter Nineteen
Paige
I FLIP THE STEAK IN the pan to sear the other side so it will be ready when Brody gets home from work. I’ve cooked so much steak and chicken while living at his place that I’m probably an expert. To experiment with different techniques, I watched a lot of online videos. Brody appreciates my efforts, so I try to make the food as tasty as possible.
It’s the least I can do. I want him to be happy. He deserves to be so happy. He deserves to win every competition in the world and to have someone take care of him as much as he’s taken care of Amber. And he deserves to have the best, most mind-exploding orgasms anyone can handle.
He still insists he doesn’t need to come if I don’t, but I hate holding him back. I’ve tried another week to get my body to cooperate, but it refuses. I wish Brody would let me make him come. I need to know I’m doing something for him instead of just taking.
