Page 53 of Just Ten Seconds

“Very.” I swallow.

“My turn.” Lauren sits up straighter, commanding the attention of the table.

Dean settles back in his seat with eyes straight on me as Lauren makes the next statement, “Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex.”

This time, I’m the only one to take a drink. The three of them have their eyes widely glued on me.

I shrug. “It’s Katy Perry’s fault.” Referring to the song “I Kissed a Girl.” They all seem to understand the reference.

“Just a kiss?” Joey needs to know, looking like a puppy with his tongue hanging out.

“Just a kiss. It wasn’t for me. I don’t know. I guess I really like a man’s arm around me. Maybe even the scrape of his stubble. Girls are too delicate.”

Dean’s body is turned toward mine. His hand is now on his chin as he lightly rubs it, assessing me. I don’t know if this is a good assessment or a bad one.

“I guess it’s my turn. Never have I ever cheated on someone,” I say with bated breath.

I’m happy to see no one takes a drink.

“Never have I ever left the house without underwear,” Lauren chirps out of order.

Joey, Dean, and I each take a drink. I don’t miss the way Dean’s eyes lower down my body.

It’s Joey’s turn. “Never have I ever gotten into a physical fight with someone.”

Dean drinks heavily, and my attention is on his biceps and the way they flex with the lift of his beer.

“Never have I ever had sex in a public place,” Dean says.

Lauren and Joey let out a loud laugh and take large gulps, clearly sharing a moment of a place where they’ve been.

And then it’s my turn. “Never have I ever fantasied about someone in this room.”

Lauren and Joey keep drinking while Dean, almost methodically, closes his hand around his beer and raises it ever so slowly up to his lips. He takes a drink all while keeping his eyes trained on mine. His Adam’s apple bobs with the motion, and I find myself swallowing as well.

The song changes to a popular dance tune, and Lauren is up and out of her seat. “I love this song.” She calls for Joey, who is right behind her, going to the dance floor.

I go to take another sip but find my bottle is drained.

“Dance with me,” Dean says.

I don’t dance. And yet, I find myself rising from my chair.

I follow him onto the dance floor where we find a spot in the middle. The music has an easy rhythm, and my hips flows to the side. I feel the eyes of the other patrons on me, staring at my ridiculous outfit. Out of context, I just look like a crazy lady in a black-and-pink tutu. I can feel myself moving robotically, more focused on the peering eyes of judgment than the music.

Dean’s hand lands on my hip, and he pulls me in.

I peer up into his midnight blues as his head bows down to my ear, and he whispers, “Ignore them. Focus on me. Pretend I’m the only man in the room.”

His request isn’t hard at all. Since I met him, it takes physical effort to keep myself from looking at him. Now, I’m being given permission to stare as much as I want under the guise of ignoring the outside world. This I can do because, damn, I do enjoy staring at him.

With my eyes on him, I move my hands up his arms and feel the bulge of those biceps I was admiring just moments before. I feel every dip of the lean muscle as I raise my hands up to his shoulders and wind my fingers around his neck.

He pulls my body flush against his, and my breath hitches. When his hips sway to the side, mine move in unison. We ebb and flow, move in tandem to the sweet rhythm of the song that’s a hip-hop tune mixed with a dance beat.

His hand is splayed wide on my lower back, and it’s encouraging my whole body to move along with him.

With my sole focus only on him, I let go.