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She shimmies her shoulders, arms out. I do too. She bends back. I bend forward. This time we immediately find ourgroove. Laughter bubbles at the back of my throat as she bends farther and farther back and forward, her athleticism—her strength—on full display.
This girl would be an animal in bed. No question.
During the next song—it’s Britney, bitch—Maren leans so far back, I think she’s going into a full backbend. But then she must lose her footing, because next thing I know she’s flailing, grabbing onto my shirt. I lurch forward and curl an arm around her waist, snatching her just before she hits the floor.
My body ignites with the realization that I’m holding her tightly against me. Her body flush against mine. Eyes lit up with surprise and... something else.
Something I feel everywhere.
Putting a hand on my shoulder, her tits rise on an inhale. I can feel the press of the hardened points of her nipples through my shirt.
“Holy shit, Superman, you move fast.”
I am coming out of my fucking skin. “I have a nickname now too?”
“If you like it, sure.”
Our eyes lock. Slowly, slowly, I straighten, bringing her with me.
I wait for her hand to drop from my shoulder. It doesn’t.
I wait for my arm to drop from around her waist. It doesn’t.
The song ends. Something else comes on—I can feel the bass vibrate in my breastbone—but I couldn’t tell you what it was.
I’m too lost in the feel of Maren pressed against me. My hips melt into hers.Stop. Right now.
Stop.
Her eyes move to my mouth. I’m suddenly aware of my lips. How they’d very much like to be on hers.
Here it is again. That easy, almost automatic communicationthat happens between us. Words not necessary. Just shared hunger, the kind that eats you alive.
The same hunger that led me down a path of destruction when I was young and stupid.
“You all right?” I manage.
She’s still breathless when she replies, “All good.”
I gently pull my arm away and step back. My body screams at the loss of her warmth.
Maren blinks, the disappointment written clearly on her face.
I know, and I’m sorry.
I turn around and grab my jacket off the weight bench. “Been a long day. I’m going to bed. Thanks for the, uh, lesson.”
“Anytime.”
“Don’t stay up too late.”
“I’m going to head upstairs right now.”
I hold up a couple fingers. “Night.”
“Goodnight, Superman.”
My heart pings around inside my chest like a pinball as I march dutifully to my house. Every step feels like I’m moving through quicksand. Like the universe is telling me I’m making the wrong move.
