She’s stunning, there’s no arguing that. She has on a fuck-me dress that hugs her curves like it has been painted on and a pair of heels that excentuate her extremely long tan and tone legs. Her makeup is done all dramatic and dark with her signature lipstick practically begging to be smeared over my cock.
Except tonight I am feeling absolutely no desire to see that red painted over my shaft like I usually do.
I didn’t even want to come.
We’ve got morning lift at 6:15 sharp and then another preseason game tomorrow afternoon. But I knew that telling her “no, I’m not going” was going to launch me into another three day cycle of the Sabrina Screeching about how I don’t appreciate her or respect her or possibly even love her.
So, like the complete fucking idiot that I am, I decided I would risk a hangover just to avoid dealing with her ballistic emotional state.
The second we step inside the noise nearly bowls me over. The music is cranked so loud that the fucking walls are vibrating and the smell of beer, body spray, and bad decisions is clinging to the fucking air.
Mack immediately grabs a beer out of one of the coolers and beelines it for the makeshift dance floor in the living room. The girl he brought starts dancing with him in a way that is really fucking indecent. She’s half grinding, half humping him and I have to turn away from the shit show before I get second hand embarrassment.
I look down at Sabrina again. She’s still tucked into my side with a smirk as she looks over the room. Her hips sway lightly to the music and she clings to my t-shirt as she presses herself into me.
I make my way over to a cooler and grab a beer, never once getting an inch of space from Sabrina. I pop it open and drain half in one go.
“I’ll be right back,” Sab whisper-yells in my ear before stalking across the room to her group of overdressed friends.
I let out a sigh and finish my beer before immediately grabbing another one. My eyes keep flicking back to Sabrina’s laughter and the way her body moves and the fact that I’m supposed to feel something that I absolutely donotfeel.
Sabrina comes back to me a few minutes later with that look on her face. The one that says she’s decided we’re dancing now and my opinion is decorative at best. Before I can even finish my new beer she’s pressing herself against me like we’re filming something that should absolutely require age verification and a release form.
“Dance with me baby,” she yells and giggles and I find the noise fucking insufferable. But like the good boyfriend that I am, I follow her through the throng of people dancing.
She grinds back against me hard and exaggeratedly slow. It’s the kind of movement that’s meant to turn heads and flip switches, and I do my best to get into it because that’s what I always do. I slide my hands to her hips as I sway behind her.
And still… nothing.
My body stays stubbornly uninterested, like it’s on strike and refusing to cross the picket line. I’m not repulsed or anything. I’m just bored, which somehow feels worse.
I watch her hair swing, feel her weight against me, and all I can think is how many times this exact scene has played out and how little it’s doing for me now.
I tell myself to relax and enjoy the music. I beg my body to just let loose and focus on the beautiful woman who is sliding her body against mine. This right here is supposed to be easy. This is supposed to be fun.
Unable to keep staring at the back Sabrina’s head with all my thoughts fucking me up, I look up across the room and everything just ceases to fucking exist.
Across the room, like the universe decided to personally fuck with me, Jacob is dancing with some guy in a backwards baseball hat. The sight hits me harder than any bodycheck I’ve taken this season.
Jacob is facing away from him, their bodies lined up almost perfectly even though they’re about the same height, and he’s moving in this loose, confident way I’ve never seen before.
The guy’s hands roam freely over Jacob’s hips, up his sides, thumbs brushing dangerously close to places that make my jaw tighten without permission.
He leans in and kisses Jacob’s neck, his tongue flicking out and tasting his skin in an obscene way, and I swear I stop breathing for a full second.
But Jacob doesn’t look back at him. Honestly he barely seems to notice the guys hands caressing his body or his lips traveling up his neck.
He looks at me.
His eyes are locked on mine from across the room, dark and heated. The noise of the party fades into nothing but bass and blood rushing in my ears, and suddenly I’m hyper aware of everything. The press of Sabrina against me, the beer going warm in my hand, the way my pulse spikes so hard it feels like I can hear my own goddamn heartbeat.
But the worst part is that my body reacts now.
Not to Sabrina and the way she is grinding against me.
To Jacob.
To the way his throat tilts when the guy kisses his neck. To the way his shoulders roll subtly with the music. To the fact that his eyes never leave mine, not even for a second, like he’s daring me to look away first.
