We both turn to see Julietta walking toward us. Her face is creased with concern. Several feet behind her, Aaron is pressing on his swollen cheek.
“Is everything okay?” Julietta asks Zandra.
Zandra forces a smile. “Yeah, we’re just having a small disagreement. Creative differences.”
“Well, Aaron and I are going to go. He wants to get some ice for his face and the bartender is refusing to give him any. Are you ready to go?” she asks.
“Um, I’m going to stay here,” she says. “I’ll find another way home.”
Julietta glances at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” Zandra says. “I’m just not ready to go home. Feel better, Aaron. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. It’s a warrior wound,” Aaron says, pressing down harder on his cheek. “I’ll tell Erica I was in a bar fight. It’s not a lie. I’ll look super heroic though.”
“You were heroic, Aaron,” I say. “It took guts to get in between the two of us.”
“Ah, yes, guts. The thing I will be puking later,” he says, but he gives me a sheepish smile. “Thanks for defending my honor, Mark. You’re the real MVP. We’ll see you both in the morning.”
I watch them walk away. As Julietta glances back at us, Zandra puts her hands on my waist, pulling me closer. My attention fully returns to her.
“Why didn’t you go home with her?” I ask. She releases me and runs her hands through her hair, gripping it in her hands the second time through. Our lower bodies remain dangerously close.
“I’m too drunk to be stuck in a car with them,” she says. “I’d end up blabbing about you and they’d find out how pathetic I was for you.”
“You weren’t pathetic.”
Her movements start slow, barely swaying to the music, but her body gets into the rhythm and her movements become more sensual. She dances much better than I do. Better than the blonde too. She’s swaying close enough to me that occasionally she bumps up against me, but it only adds to her dancing skills.
“I was a little pathetic,” she says. “It sounds like you were a little pathetic too.”
If we’re both drunk, can I be blamed for taking this moment of peace and sensuality and taking advantage of it?
She turns around. Her ass is better than I remember. When her hips roll now, her ass bumps up against my cock. I stay close to her—partly because it feels so damn good and partly to avoid people noticing my tented pants.
We shouldn’t be doing this in front of everyone here, but my addiction to her doesn’t let me leave.
The way she dances matches her usual disposition. It flows, but there are sharp edges. Her dancing style isn’t the same as everyone else’s, but she follows the rhythm. It is, undeniably, stimulating and evocative. And sexy.
The world narrows to just the two of us. Sweat gleams on her skin. Her spicy vanilla scent becomes stronger, pulling me closer to her. My hands start on her shoulders, slowly caressing down her arms. She reaches back, our fingers tangling for a few seconds before she lets go.
It’s different from our time in Paris. It’s deeper. It’s complicated. It’s less pure, but also less naive.
Time becomes inconsequential, but by the time we’re done dancing, I’m ready to drink anything. I get another whiskey and order Zandra a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.
“How did you know that’s my favorite wine?” she asks as I hand it to her.
“It was a guess,” I say. It’s a lie. In Paris, she’d mentioned wanting to try a glass, but I’d convinced her we’d have some when we could afford the good brands. It’s stuck out in my mind for an inappropriate amount of time because we never got a bottle of it. “You have the right personality for it. Determined. Always striving to be great at what you do.”
She takes a sip of it. “Not bad. But I’m pretty sure my mind is hardwired for stronger alcohol after tonight.”
“You had a fair number of men getting you drinks.”
“Don’t be too jealous,” she teases, her hand settling on my back. “I’m going home with you tonight, aren’t I?”
“Are you?” I ask.
Her cheeks flush. “I just meant…we’re going home in the same cab. Right?” she frowns, lost in her own uncertainty.
