She doesn’t seem to notice it quite as much as I do, her hips sway the entire way down to the floor, and she easily gets into a groove once we find a spot. The floor is stickier than I remember, and it smells pretty rank absolutely everywhere in here, like a mix of BO, carnal sins and the thick, skunky smell of marijuana seeping from people’s pores, probably leftover in their systems from whatever classy activities they got up to last night.
And I don’t remember a free headache coming with admission back in the day, but I guess that’s just a free upgrade now?
I try to focus on the woman in front of me, her arms wrapped around my neck, and how sexy she looks as she moves her body to the pulsing, pounding, horrible beat.
“I thought you said it was 2000’s night?” She has to scream for me to hear her, but I’m already wondering the same thing. My eyes scan the room until a flyer with the same design I saw online comes into view.
00’s Night at the Bump ‘n’ Grind
Come get freaky with the best of the noughties’ naughty hits
9 PM to closing
Yet another groan sounds from my throat, but this one for a whole different reason.
“Looks like it doesn’t start until nine, I’m sorry, baby.”
She pulls back from where her ear was against my lips to look me in the eye, a trace of horror lining her gorgeous hazel irises. It probably mirrors the shock and terror in my own.
“Nine?” She practically shrieks. “Do they know millennials don’t go out that late? Who are they even targeting? Because eighty percent ofourgeneration is in bed with a true crime documentary by then!”
A laugh bubbles out of me and I kiss the cheek of the woman I love so damn much. Even if I have to listen to EDM—or as I’m used to calling it, house music—to spend a couple hours alone with her, it’s worth it. I just might need some Advil to counteract the rest of it.
“I guess we should’ve gotten here a bit later, huh?” I ask her, even though when I look around, it looks pretty damn packed in here to me. We’ve already bumped into at least four other couples on the dance floor, and I’m not a fan of the proximity to other people in here. Haven’t they heard of personal space?
“It’s only another half an hour, let’s wait it out!” she shouts in my ear.
It feels like a grimace breaks out on my face and she gives me a scolding look, then laughs at me. “Don’t be an old ass!”
I bend my face into something that looks less like I’d rather bingeChip and Potatoor evenPeppa Pigfor twenty-four hours without Preston or Lea to keep me company and make it more bearable than be here. “I’ll get us drinks!” I volunteer, looking for something to make this place less terrible until it transforms into the club we remember from back in our day.
She nods at me and points down with both hands, thick hips still swaying, little body still moving, signaling she’ll stay here and keep dancing.
It takes a while to get the attention of the bartender, seeing as to how I don’t have tits and he’s preoccupied with everything that does, but eventually I make my way back to the spot I left my wife, carrying a bottle of brewski and some fruity cocktail on special.
When I get back to her, I find some soon-to-be-dead motherfucker trying to grind up against her from behind.
“Get lost!” I yell at him, across the way-too-loud, aneurysm-inducing sounds that the DJ apparently considers music.
This schmuck gives me a dirty look and moves in closer to her, which is when Chrissy finally realizes there’s some rando behind her. She spins around and smiles at him politely, but leans her head in my direction, telling him she’s with me.
His eyes flick toward her impressive cleavage and he holds his hands up like “can you blame me for trying?” and my eyes narrow on him. Yeah, I can fucking blame him.
From my vantage point at just under six feet, I can see the whole damn world when I look down her shirt. He’s got a few inches on me, and I don’t even want to know how much of my wife he got to stare at. My blood boils at the thought.
I hand Di her drink and put her body slightly behind mine, away from his line of pervy sight before I speak to him again, damn near growling the words out.
“Come back here and try to make another move on my wife if you feel like a free nose job, yeah, buddy?”
He raises his hands even higher, his brows making a run for it too, headed off the top of his fivehead, and he backs the fuck up.
Without breaking eye contact with the weasel, I tell Di out of the side of my mouth, “Your tits are gonna get us in trouble, baby. You look too fucking good.”
She titters a laugh and moves in closer to me, grinding on my leg, trying to get me to focus on her again.
I continue scowling at the asshole until he’s fully gone, off trying to grope some other victim, and then it hits me.
A wave of familiarity, ofthis used to be my life.
