Hitting on strangers. Dealing with dickish boyfriends when the hot one you were flirting with was taken but didn’t get to tell you that before he came back to the table. Groping random women in clubs, bars, sorority houses, parties, and thinking it wasthelife.
I was so fucking wrong.
This shit isterriblenow.
Yeah, I had fun with it when I was twenty-one or twenty-two, butfuck,I forgot how grueling this scene is.
When my girl and I got serious, moved in together, traded nights out for nights in, made some babies, I truly forgot the uncertainty that laced my every day before her. Not just where my next lay was coming from, and if I’d meet anyone worthwhile that night, but I didn’t have certainty inanyaspect of my life. It was all one giant unknown.
What to do with my life, if I’d findthe one, was settling down in my future, what did my future even look like?
Looking around at the other clubgoers, I’m surrounded by my old insecurities, and I don’t miss them one bit.
Living in the moment can be fun, but knowing what tomorrow holds? Who you’ll wake up next to, what hand you’ll be holding, no matter what life throws at you? There’s no peace on earth like it.
I wrap an arm around the source of my peace and pull her close as can be, still moving and grinding to this trash. She’s sipped a fair amount of her drink already, and I decide alcohol is the only hope to make it past nine o’clock in this hellhole, and start chugging my Mich Ultra.
Man, clubbing isnotwhat I remember it to be.
But I’m determined to give my wife a night to remember.
TEN
CHRISSY
We went to this club this one time, when we first started dating. He had just made his first big sale, so we were celebrating that night, he splurged with his commission check and got us a VIP table. We fucked against the wall in that corner right there, actually. Not sure how we didn’t get caught, but we were pretty good at getting down absolutely anywhere back then.
My eyes stay glued to that spot for long enough that Chance notices. He follows my gaze, then gives me a heated look that tells me he’s got the same thing on his mind as I do.
Even though it’s been years since we’ve gone out dancing, he’s still got moves. My eyes take in the way his body rolls and bumps with the dance remix of a current hit I vaguely recognize, and the swooping low in my belly turns to tingles, a rush of liquid heat where I miss him most dampens the thin, lacy thong I’ve got on underneath this little skirt.
My hips circle against his lower body with more intention now, bringing our pelvises together with the beat, and his eyes flare, darkening with desire. The friction of the lace between my legs as I press myself against the bulge in his khakis is frustratingly delicious. I allow myself one moment of weakness, promise myself it’ll be the only one, as I wrap my leg around his hip and roll my hips against his hardness.
He’s long since finished and discarded his beer bottle, and now he wraps both hands around my body, gripping my ass in those strong hands of his and holding me close to him, letting me work myself up and down his length right here in front of anyone who cares to watch.
We’ve done worse.
But still, I restrain myself from getting carried away with him. I climb down from his taller frame and go back to a more R-rated move, rather than an NC-17 one. His hands don’t leave my body. My ass, my hips, or when I’ve turned around and am grinding my ass into his cock, his hands grip low on my stomach, just above where it might be considered inappropriate, pressing me farther into him with every body roll.
And I try to let my mind forget that it wasn’t long ago I caught him coming to some other chick.
The way he wants me is so tangible, I fucking believe him when it’s him and me in the moment like this.
But then my brain comes back into play.
The song ends, and I step away from him, desperate to place distance there so I don’t forget again.
And apparently, it’s now past nine pm, as that big 3OH!3 song from the late 2000s starts up. Screams ring out around the club—we aren’t the only old folks here tonight—and I jump up and down and squeal excitedly. Chance pumps his arms in the air and we find our groove, like we would’ve thirteen years ago.
We get a little carried away, but can you blame us? When’s the last time you felt like you were in your prime again?
Chance crouches a little in his spot, widening his stance and patting his lap, a silent gesture for me to jump up on him. A move we’d patented way back when.
A quick readjust to my skirt and I’m good to go, arms over his shoulders, secured behind his neck, and I jump up on him, legs wrapped tight around his hips, and I’m rolling, rolling—FUCK.
Something tweaks in my back at the same time my husband winces visibly and struggles to maintain his hold on me.
Between the two of us, we manage to unhook ourselves from one another and stand on our own again, except neither of us can stand up straight. He’s bracing his low back with one hand, a look of immense pain across his features, and I think I might be stuck like this.
