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Henn and I stop walking to take the shot, which prompts Josh and Kat to stop, too. Henn explains to our companions he’s taking a photo of me in front of the Eiffel Tower for my dream board—which he quickly does—but before we resume our journey, Kat enlists a passerby to snap a few shots of our foursome for posterity. “We need a memento of this amazing double date!” Kat chirps.
We pose for the stranger, who kindly snaps away and then hands Kat’s phone back to her.
“I took a whole bunch,” our kind photographer says. “I think I got the whole Tower in the background in most of them.”
“Thank you so much,” Kat replies and the rest of us echo, before we all resume our languid stroll toward Reed’s dance club, only this time with Kat and me walking in front of the boys as we swipe through the photo shoot together.
“Aw, she framed the Tower perfectly,” Kat says, looking at the first of many group photos taken. “You never know what you’re going to get with a random stranger as your photographer, but she nailed it.” Kat gasps. “Oh my gosh. Look at this one, Banana.”
Kat hands me her phone and I gasp the same way she did. The photo is the same as the others in terms of posing and framing, but in this one, Henn isn’t looking directly at the camera, along with the rest of us. Nope, this time, he’s gazing directly at me—and with such intensity, if I saw this shot and didn’t know the situation, I’d assume the handsome man with the wavy dark hair and goatee was gazing adoringly at the great love of his life.
6
HENN
“Go Henny! Go Henny!”
That’s what Hannah is chanting with enthusiasm at me as I boogie on down the corridor like my very life depends on it. It’s almost four in the morning now, and we’re still going strong as we dance, shimmy, and shake our booties down our hotel’s long hallway toward the sprawling suite Hannah is sharing with Kat this week. When we parted ways with Josh and Kat in the lobby, Hannah took the words right out of my mouth by asking me to walk her to her room.
“You can take Peter Hennessey out of the dance club,” Hannah bellows, “but you can’t take the dance floor out of his soul, babyyyyy!”
“That’s right, babyyyyy! Your turn now!” I fling my arm toward my partner in crime. “Take it away, Bananaaaaaa!”
Hannah doesn’t hesitate. With the same intensity she had on the dance floor earlier, she gyrates and shimmies in a manner that’s simultaneously hilarious and hot as fuck.
“You think you can handle this?” Hannah says playfully with a shake of her incredible chest.
“I’d certainly like to try,” I reply, as my dick thickens in my pants.
Hannah bounds a few yards ahead of me, bends over with her palms on her knees, and twerks her round ass at me rapidly like she’s a backup dancer for Cardi B. She’s making an exaggerated “O” face as she twerks, I can’t help noticing, and the effect on my hardening dick is swift and undeniable. It’s at full mast now, the same way it was so many times during our dancing tonight. At one point, we pretended to be dancing gorillas. At another, “insecure cool kids on cocaine.” We danced every bit of choreography we could remember from Grease. And then begged the DJ to play “Thriller,” at which point we slayed the famous dance from the music video, although we both confessed later we actually learned it from Thirteen Going on Thirty. Bottom line, Hannah and I were two of a kind on that dance floor tonight—and I’ve never felt more attracted to anyone in my life.
“Join me, Danny!” Hannah shouts.
It takes me a second, but I realize she’s doing the “cowgirl with a lasso” move from the school dance scene in Grease. “I’ve got you, Sandy!” I call out as I join her lasso-twirling choreography in time.
Hannah stops in front of a door and dissolves into laughter, so I stop and laugh with her.
“This is me,” she says, gesturing to the door.
“Cool,” I say lamely, as the importance of the moment dawns upon me. Should I kiss her now? All signs point to yes, I think . . . but what if I’m misreading the signs?
Our laughter has faded now. Unmistakable electricity is coursing between us. Hannah drags her teeth over her lower lip and then licks it, her blue eyes locked with mine. I can be shockingly stupid when it comes to reading signals early on, but, yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure Hannah’s body language is screaming, Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.
My heart thundering, I step forward, touch the side of Hannah’s neck, and slowly bring my lips to hers, and, thankfully, she quickly closes the gap and presses her mouth against mine. Oh, thank God. I slide my arm around her waist and bring her closer as I introduce my tongue to hers, at which point—forget about proverbial fireworks going off—a veritable nuclear bomb explodes inside me. In fact, every drop of arousal and chemistry I’ve been feeling all night long converges inside me and turns into a detonation, the likes of which I’ve never felt before.
