Page 39 of I Wish You Were Mine

Ofcourseshe’s got good taste in music.

And of course she’s biting her lip, shimmying her ass as she walks back toward me. “We did this routine in college. Watch.”

Like I’m able to look away.

She settles her legs shoulder width apart beside me. Moving her mouth in a silent countdown, she bursts into motion when the beat drops. It starts out very cheerleader-y. Arms up, arms down. Leg up, and up even more, and holy God did she just drop into a split?

She pushes back up to her feet in a steady, elegant motion that must take enormous core and arm strength. But she doesn’t miss a beat, her hips carving tight, rhythmic circles as she crosses her arms over her body and starts dancing, mouthing the lyrics to the song as she moves.

Her energy fills the room. My blood. My hips start to circle too. Glancing in the mirror, I see what a rhythmically-challenged dickwad I look like compared to Maren. She moves like a fucking jungle cat, lethally quick, exceptionally controlled.

Only the look in her eyes is wild.

I feel wild. I also have nothing to lose. I walked in here a little drunk, and all but challenged my nanny to a dance off like we’re in a teen movie starring that Magic Mike guy. Channing Tatum is his name I think? Tatum Channing?

Whatever the case, I’ve already made a fool of myself. Why not go all in?

Meeting Maren’s eyes in the mirror, I smirk. Go for it. I’m not trying to do a male stripper thing. I just dance how I want to.

I wanna make Maren smile. Laugh.

And she does, letting out a whistle as she watches me shake my shoulders and my ass. “Damn.”

I dance harder. Sweat breaks out along my scalp. I’m out of breath trying to keep up with the rhythm, but I don’t stop.

I can’t. Not when Maren twirls behind me, her front to my back, and then proceeds to pretend to hump me while pumping her clasped hands. Laughing, I play into it, sticking out my ass even more and swinging it side to side. Maren swats at it; I hold my fingers to my mouth in anooh-that-hurtpose; she puts a hand on my back and laughs so hard she makesmelaugh.

It feels fucking good to let go and laugh like this.

My buzz is fading, but I don’t stop dancing. I bend my elbows and circle my forearms in time to the beat. Maren shouts “Ooooh, I like that one!” and leaps to my side. She does it too, our eyes meeting in the mirror as we pretend to drive our Cadillacs together.

Christ, the way this girl moves. The smile on her face. Her confidence.

My blood fuckingcracklesinside my skin.

“You really can dance.”

I nudge her with my hip. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“What else can you do that I don’t know about?”

Make you come so hard you forget your name, for starters.

Another song comes on. She dances a circle around me so that she’s standing between me and the mirror, facing away from me so she can watch us. She dips left. Waits, bouncing on her knees.

I dip right. A huge smile breaks out on her face. “Aw, yeah, you got this.”

“Of course I got it. Try to keep up, Tiny.”

She laughs. “Tiny. I like that.”

We weave in and out like that for a whole chorus. Maren really gets into it, sinking lower with each dip, and I play along. Try to, anyway. It’s murder on my old-man knees. The Navy was not easy on them.

It’s murder not putting my hands on her hips and pulling her to me. I’d melt my groin into her ass. Grind into her. The friction would feel so fucking good.

The chorus ends and Maren spins around to face me. My heart takes a swan dive. Too close.

Not close enough.

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