“Alright,” Trey says easily, already shifting closer to me, “but I’m not parting from my wifey. We’re going to head back to the suite—we’ll meet you all there later.”
He starts to pull me out of my chair, and I can’t stop the excited giggle that slips free. I didn’t know I could feel this light—this happy.
“Aww, come on, bro, we just got here. You can hang out with us,” Sam says, trying and failing to sound convincing. “Chace mentioned a dope shooting range where you can use a mini-gun, and there’s this cool museum you have to check out.”
“Sorry, not sorry,” Trey replies, completely unbothered. “I’ve got a beautiful wife, and we haven’t had time to just… be.”
“Is that a sex thing?” Sam asks, glancing at Chace.
Chace doesn’t even hesitate. “It’s Trey, dude. Do you really have to ask?”
“Shit—my bad. Fair, bro. Catch you two lovebirds later.”
The afternoon disappears without me noticing.
I spend most of it curled against Trey on the sofa, tucked beneath his arm, my cheek pressed to his chest while some absurd British reality show called Geordie Shore plays across the television.
Trey loves it. It’s wild, chaotic, loud. Slightly unhinged.
And completely, disturbingly jaw-dropping.
They dress up every night like the world is waiting for them. They paint their faces and squeeze into glitter and heels and tiny dresses, and then they spill out into the dark, into flashing lights and music and crowded rooms.
They drink. They dance. They throw their heads back and laugh unencumbered.
I cannot stop watching.
Trey’s fingers move absently through my hair, his attention half on the screen, half on me, and every time one of the girls spins in a club, hips swaying, lights strobing over her skin, something tightens inside my chest.
They look free.
Completely, recklessly free.
By the time dusk begins to settle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, washing the sky in bruised purples and fading gold, I can feel the want pulsing inside me like a second heartbeat.
I don’t want to watch it anymore.
I want to experience it. Now. Tonight. With my husband.
I shift, pushing upright from where I’ve been draped across him, and the absence of his arms makes my skin feel suddenly cool. I step into the middle of the room, hands settling on my hips, heart pounding so loudly I’m certain he can hear it.
He looks up at me lazily at first.
Then properly.
Something in his expression changes.
I don’t ask.
For once in my life, I don’t soften it into a question.
I hold his gaze, bold in a way I’ve never been before, but unafraid, because I know him, because I trust him, because there is nothing in this world he would deny me if it mattered.
My heart races so hard it almost steals my breath. “Tonight. I want to dance with you. Like they do.”
I gesture toward the television, where neon lights flicker over bodies pressed together in movement and music and freedom.
For a fraction of a second, surprise flashes in his eyes.
