Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Sam
The bass pounded up through the floor and into my spine, every beat vibrating through my ribs.
The room tipped and swayed around me, lights too bright, colors smearing and pulsing at the edges of my vision. Voices melted together, muffled and distant beneath the music, faces and smiles flashing in and out like snapshots I couldn’t quite hold onto.
I was drunk. Properly, undeniably drunk.
And I was in it.
Bodies moved all around me, limbs and hips and sweat-slick arms flying. Callie and Evan were a blur of color and rhythm, limbs tangled, laughter spilling between verses like they’d choreographed it in a fever dream.
Jules and Elliott were right there with us, not off to the side but in the thick of it, celebrating like the night had been built just for us.
Elliott caught my eye through the strobe lights, his grin wide, bright with sweat and joy, and before I could think, he surged forward, threw an arm around me, and kissed my cheek hard.
I laughed, pulling him in tighter and kissing him back before turning and pressing one to Jules’s cheek too.
Harper and Avery claimed a corner, shrieking with laughter as Avery dramatically lip-synced into his drink while Harper spun him in a lazy, tipsy twirl.
Renzo, our sexy straight man in a sea of glitter and crop tops, had somehow ended up dancing with both of them, one arm around each of their shoulders, letting them drag him into whatever ridiculous choreography they’d made up on the fly.
Harper was his gay best friend, and honestly, they had better couple energy than half my dates this year.
It should’ve felt chaotic. Overstimulating. But it didn’t. It felt like a release.
And then there was Liam.
God, Liam.
He was dancing with some guy I didn’t recognize.
Tight jeans, cocky smile, and hands too familiar for someone who hadn’t earned it.
Liam just laughed, head thrown back, face flushed, moving like the music belonged to him.
Like he was the one conjuring it from the air and daring the rest of us to keep up.
It got under my skin in the same way it had at Stag & Lantern.
He was always like this. Flirty, loud, a little shameless, and so damned magnetic. A slut. Everyone knew it. Everyone loved him for it. Liam was our Blanche Devereaux, and we let him get away with it. Hell, we celebrated it.
But tonight, I couldn’t laugh it off.
Tonight, something about seeing his hands on that guy’s waist, the way their hips brushed and lingered, sent a sharp twist low in my stomach, tight and unwelcome and impossible to ignore.
I danced harder, faster, like I could outrun the feeling. Let the heat swallow me, let the music press in until there was nothing else, no space to think, no room to feel.
Evan spun me, laughing, and Callie slung an arm around my shoulders, dragging me into a tangle of bodies and sweat and crashing beats, the floor thudding beneath my feet, my pulse racing to keep up.
And still, breathless and buzzing and just a little off-balance, I kept one eye on Liam.
I always did.
And then, Liam pulled his shirt off.
Just like that.
Like it was nothing.
Like it wasn’t going to send my brain into a tailspin.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
Someone whistled, another cheered. Liam just smirked, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms above his head like he was making a damn show of it.
And fuck, I hated how much I was looking.
He was broad, warm, and unapologetically solid, sweat-slicked skin glistening under the pulsing lights.
His chest, dusted with dark hair, rose and fell with the rhythm of the music, and his belly was soft but powerful, the kind that spoke of good food, good drinks, and a life fully lived.
The curve of him, the way his body claimed space without apology, wrecked me.
I turned away.
Or tried to.
But Liam was everywhere.
The heat of him.
The smell of him.
The way his laugh rolled through me, deep and unfiltered.
I barely had a second to catch my breath before his hands found my waist.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
His skin pressed to mine.
Nothing.
Everything.
The music shifted, slowing just slightly, something deeper, thicker, a steady thump-thump-thump vibrating through the room, through my chest, through him.
"Erotica". Seriously?
That bass line had lived in my body since I was twelve.
I’d snuck the cassette into the house like I was smuggling drugs, hidden under the lining of my backpack, praying my mom wouldn’t find it.
In our very Catholic Latin home, Madonna was both a whore and a heretic.
Just ask my mom. But this song? This one had rewired something fundamental in me before I had words for what that meant.
So of course the DJ dropped it now. Of course.
The shift hit immediately, the song sliding into something darker, heavier, the beat snapping tight around my ribs before I had time to brace. My body answered first, muscle and memory taking over, moving on instinct while my brain lagged a half-step behind.
The pulse of it was animal, electric, vibrating straight through me like it had always been waiting there.
Like fate had queued this moment decades ago in my childhood bedroom, cassette spinning, walls shaking just enough, heart pounding as I lay there wondering what it would feel like to be wanted.
And suddenly, breathless and buzzing under the lights, I knew.
Now I knew.
And I wanted more.
Liam’s hands stayed right there. Steady, warm, and unmoving.
And then I turned.
And he was looking at me.
Not like a best friend or like someone he wasn’t supposed to be looking at like this.
His eyes dragged over me pausing on my lips, on the sweat dampening my hair, on the way my chest rose and fell beneath the thin fabric of my t-shirt.
I licked my lips, and fuck, he watched me do it.
His eyes locked on the motion, pupils dark and wide, and something low in my stomach twisted hard, a pulse of heat that had no business hitting that deep, that fast.
My chest tightened. Breath caught. Nerves lit up like a live wire.
I wasn’t drunk enough for this.
Or maybe I was just drunk enough.
Because when Liam stepped in, I didn’t pull away.
His fingers found my waist, curling just slightly. Barely there, barely touching, but it was enough. Enough to say, I want this.
And I let him.
And then he was there. All of him.
His belly pressed against mine, firm but soft in all the ways that drove me absolutely wild. He wasn’t trying to suck anything in, wasn’t pretending to be anything other than himself. Thick, strong, unapologetically curvy… and it made me want him even more.
The heat between us was almost unbearable. His chest, covered in dark, damp hair, brushed mine through the thin cotton of my shirt. My hands landed on his torso, slipping just slightly across the slick skin and holy shit, I wanted more.
His beard grazed my jaw as he leaned in, and the coarse drag of it against my skin made my knees go soft. His breath was hot at my ear. His fingers gripped the back of my shirt.
A sudden, undeniable pressure against my hip.
Thick. Hard.
No mistaking it.
His dick.
Pressed against me.
And then mine responded like it was answering a fucking call, straining against my jeans as if it needed to make its presence known.
My entire body lit up with one thought: Oh God. I’m hard. So fucking hard. From him. And Jesus Christ, he must feel it too.
I was burning. Every nerve ending overloaded. Every muscle wound tight. My skin felt like it was vibrating from the inside out.
This wasn’t a flirt. This wasn’t some lazy, half-assed bump-and-grind on the dance floor.
This was real.
This was him.
And I had never wanted anything more.
My lips hovered by his jaw.
My pulse hammered in my throat.
Then he kissed me.
And I kissed him back.
It was hot, fast, reckless.
His fingers gripped my waist.
I clutched his bare shoulders, sliding over hot, damp skin, gripping, pulling.
We pressed together flush, electric, and unapologetic. The world spinning too fast, the music swelling, and drowning out everything except this.
Liam made a low sound, deep in his throat, sending heat rushing down my spine.
I fisted my hands against his skin.
And fuck, I should have stopped.
Should have pulled away.
Should have remembered that this was Liam: my best friend, the one I couldn’t do this with.
But then my tongue brushed his bottom lip.
And he let me in.
Everything blurred, like we were moving without thinking, like we had always been moving toward this.
When we finally broke apart, the room was still spinning, but Liam’s face was right there, lips swollen, pupils blown, breath heavy.
My head spun, my body burned, and all I could think was—
Oh.
Fuck.
Oh, fuck.