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I nab the plate and eat up as she looks out at the people dancing, at those shooting shit at the bar, and those playing pool. Again, her eyes shine like she’s in another world. And I guess she is. This isn’t a bunch of fucking hipsters wearing work clothes, ironically. This is a bunch of real people, of hard workers, of those letting off steam and just having a good time.
“Come on.” I take her hand, hauling her up and into my arms for a spin on the floor.
The song’s upbeat, lively enough that I don’t have to hold her real close. I still hold her closer than I need, slipping my hands down low on her back, leaving her nowhere to go but against me.
Her hands rest on my chest, curling slightly against my shirt. She’s soft and sweet smelling and just right.
I know she’s smaller than me. I’ve fucking carried her, hauled her out of that damn Audi of hers, but this is different.
More intimate in a way because I can hold her and sink into the heat that radiates from her. I can let my brain drift to what, exactly, is beneath this dress—the kind of underwear she prefers.
Is she into matching sets? Lace? Does she have a racy or romantic streak? Like maybe she enjoys luxury against her tits, her pussy. And—
Uh, yeah, I gotta slow down because I just might get myself into all sorts of problems.
It’s an interesting question, though, and one I know I’ll return to.
One thing is I like this version of the princess. She’s fun, and open to a degree. Almost like there’s been someone else lurking there, just below the surface of her, waiting for a moment to peek out.
That strikes something like I hit on a truth. But beyond that, I don’t know what the truth here means, only that there’s a center to her, a secret one that she’s giving freedom to, and I fucking want to get to know that Sidney. I want to know her story—all of it.
Because this woman, when she’s whole, shines.
Not bright, not garish. Just a glow that shines and calls to me.
“Come on, let’s get a drink,” I say, releasing her.
There are rabbit holes and rabbit holes, and the latter is the type that I don’t want to go down. She’s not staying. I don’t know anything about her, and a princess is still a princess.
“Okay.” Sidney leads the way, and she has money in a pocket of her dress that she pulls out.
I swipe it away.
“I can afford a drink.”
“Not on my watch.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“No,” I say, “it isn’t, but I asked you, so I’m buying.”
I get us another round, and a hand slides down over my ass. Not hers. I recognize the cloud of perfume. “Lissa.”
The redhead next to me is painted into the jeans and top, and she’s a fucking masterpiece. I guess you could say we dated, if you call a lot of sex for a couple of months dating. We have talked. Gone to dinner. But, yeah. Sex.
“Mack,” she murmurs, leaning in, “you look good enough to eat. Dump the charity case, and I’ll make it worth your time.”
“Thanks, Lissa, but I can’t. Catch you around.”
I collect the drinks and turn, searching for Sidney.
The thing is, Lissa can do exactly what she says. She’s got mad skills. I just didn’t want more than those skills and she did.
I search the crowd. Where the fuck is the princess?
Great, some beefy dude’s got his hands on her and is spinning her on the dance floor. I hand the drinks to some girl, stating, “On me,” and march up.
I didn’t want fucking Lissa hitting on me. And I sure as shit don’t want this side of aged beef hitting on my princess.
