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I glance back at Isabella and Gigi; both of them have giant grins on their faces as they cheer me on to follow him up.
The man dancing with me has long black hair, and it’s pulled up in a man bun. Normally, I hate man buns, but this guy makes it work. He has tanned skin, no chest hair. Sleek as satin, actually. He probably manscapes. A guy with that dark of hair must have chest hair.
He’s wearing only his G-string, and I have to admit his ass is very nice.
Not as nice as Jackson’s, though. I shake my head.
Why do my thoughts always come back to Jackson? How do you fall out of love with someone?
Dancing with a male stripper is as good a start as anything. These guys are paid to act this way. He’s not really attracted to me. He pulled me up because he saw the pile of bills sitting in front of me on the table, and he probably expects most of them will end up in his G-string. He’s not wrong.
So I dance with him. I laugh because I’ve had a couple of drinks, and they’ve definitely taken the edge off. I laugh, smile, let him touch my hips and show me how to follow him. Then he trails my arms up until they’re around his neck, and we gyrate together in a kind of dirty-dancing style. I drift with him, slide with him, angle my body with his.
It’s kind of fun.
It would be more fun if I were doing it with someone who actually wanted to dance with me, but hey, a girl takes what she can get. Not my normal MO, but after three drinks? Whatever.
One glance toward our table, and I see Isabella and Gigi are still all smiles. Gigi is especially hooting the loudest for me to “get in there.”
I laugh and look back at the hunk’s face. He’s quite handsome, of course. Brown eyes, a brown goatee, and the long brown hair and man bun. Add a sculpted jaw line and I let myself go. I move with him, slide into the dirty dancing…
I can’t help myself.
I look toward the table once more, just to revel in the fact that Isabella and Gigi are jealous of—
Uh-oh.
My heart flips at the beautiful face I see.
Jackson is here.
He’s glaring at me.
What occurs next happens so quickly, I can’t quite put it together in my mind.
One second, I’m dancing onstage.
The next…Jackson’s imposing presence makes the dancer back off and move away from me.
“Get down from there,” Jackson says.
I can’t actually hear him over the loud music, but there’s no mistaking the movement of his full lips. Though he’s being dominant and ridiculous, I can’t help myself.
I obey him.
No communication in a month, and I obey him.
I obey him without question, even against my better judgment, as my heart races and I tremble. Jackson is here. For me. Is hefinallyready to admit there’s something more than friendship between us?
Once I’m off the stage, he takes my arm and leads me through the crowd.
When we’re outside the club, Jackson covers me in his jacket—a new one, since the old one’s in the dumpster behind my building.
“What were you doing up there?”
“Dancing.”
He scoffs. “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”
