Chapter 3 Charlie #2
I laugh, the sound lost to the beat, but he sees it in my face and grins in response.
There's something honest in his smile, something that feels refreshingly genuine amidst the usual dance floor posturing.
As the song shifts into something slower but still driving, with a deeper bass line that seems to vibrate between us, he moves closer, a question in his eyes.
I answer by stepping into the space between us, letting his hands find my waist as mine rest lightly on his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
"So," he asks, his voice dropping low as his hands settle more firmly in place, thumbs just grazing the curve of my hip bones, "do you have a favorite coffee shop around here?"
I nearly laugh at the casual question. Every inch of our bodies are pressed together, my chest against his, our thighs touching as we move to the beat, his hands warm and secure on my hips.
I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong against my chest, his breath on my neck creating goosebumps I hope he can't see in this lighting.
The tequila buzzes pleasantly through my system, and the music wraps around us like we're the only two people on the floor, cocooning us in sound and sensation.
And he wants to know about coffee shops.
"There's a little place two blocks from my work," I answer, my fingers absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
It's softer than I expected, and I resist the urge to curl my fingers into it more firmly.
"They make this ridiculously delicious caramel latte that's basically dessert.
Whipped cream, extra caramel drizzle, the works. "
His thumbs trace small circles against the fabric of my dress, the movement both soothing and maddening. "Sweet tooth?"
"Only sometimes," I murmur, meeting his eyes. "Depends on my mood. And the company."
The corner of his mouth quirks up, revealing the dimple again. "I'll have to remember that."
My body shifts instinctively closer, drawn to his warmth like a magnet, and his hands slide to the small of my back in response, spanning wide enough that I feel deliciously small against him.
The contrast between our closeness and the casual conversation makes everything feel strangely heightened.
Like we’re playing a game where the real meaning hides in the silence between our words.
The look he's giving me right now is nothing short of scorching, all playfulness momentarily suspended as his eyes drop briefly to my lips before returning to meet my gaze.
For a moment, I forget about everything except the way it feels to be wanted by someone who looks at me this way—like I'm the only thing worth seeing in a room full of people.
The song changes, and Bash's hands steady me as I wobble slightly on my heels.
"You okay?" He quickly scans my face, one eyebrow raised.
"Fine, just..." My head starts to spin slightly. The combination of tequila, being on the dance floor, and the unsettling nearness of this man who somehow smells like pine and warm spice. "I should probably get some water. Or another drink. Possibly both, in that order."
He nods and releases me, but his hand finds the small of my back again, sending an electric current straight up my spine. "Lead the way."
We weave through the crowd, and I'm acutely aware of his presence behind me. My brain ping-pongs between blaming the tequila for this attraction and acknowledging that I'd notice his good looks even stone-cold sober.
At the bar, Marco appears before we can even flag him down.
"Water for the lady," Bash requests.
Marco slides two glass bottles of water across the bar with a knowing smile. "Hydration is key."
I gulp mine down, desperately hoping the cool liquid will clear my head.
It doesn't.
This man is still standing too close, still watching me with amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Better?" he asks.
"Getting there." I set the almost empty glass down. "Now I just need to decide if more alcohol is a good idea or a terrible one."
"That depends on your goals for the evening."
I narrow my eyes at him. "And what are yours?"
"Currently?" His gaze drops to my lips again. "Getting to know the woman in the green dress who dances like she's got something to prove."
The accuracy stings. "That obvious, huh?"
"Only to someone who recognizes the look." He leans against the bar. "So, another drink with me?"
I should say no. I should walk away from this man who clearly specializes in making women feel like the only star in his sky. Instead, I nod.
"One more. But I'm picking this time."
His smile is slow and genuine. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
I turn back to Marco, who's waiting expectantly.
"Two Purple Haze shots," I order, surprising myself with my boldness. ”Put it on my sister's tab. Emily Whitaker.”
Bash leans in. "What's a Purple Haze? Sounds like something that might make me see things."
"Not quite that potent." I laugh. "It's raspberry vodka, blue curacao, and grenadine. The colors layer, so it's pretty too."
Marco slides two vibrant purple shots towards us. They’re a deep magenta at the bottom, shifting to electric blue at the top. Bash studies his with mock suspicion.
I pick up my glass and clink it against his.
We tip the shots back in unison. The sweet berry flavor hits first, followed by the unmistakable burn of vodka. Bash's eyes widen slightly as he sets his empty glass down.
"That's dangerous," he says, shaking his head slightly. "Tastes like some kind of candy but kicks like something much stronger."
"Yeah." I run my tongue slowly across my bottom lip, catching the last sweet drop. "Dangerously delicious."
His eyes track the movement. The air between us shifts, thickens.
I blame the alcohol for what I do next.
I step closer, rising onto my tiptoes to reach his ear. The warmth of his skin radiates against my lips as I whisper, "Let's have another."
When I pull back, his expression has transformed. His earlier playful confidence is replaced by something more intense, more focused. He doesn't object, just nods once.
Marco appears with impressive timing. "Same again?"
"Yup," I confirm, not breaking eye contact with Bash.
Marco works his magic, and moments later, two more vibrant shots appear.
We clink glasses and down the shots. The sweetness coats my tongue, and the warmth of the alcohol spreads through me. The music shifts, and the opening beats of "Levitating" pulse through the speakers.
"Oh my god, I love this song!" The words tumble out of me as my body already starts moving to the rhythm.
Without thinking, I grab Bash's hand and pull him toward the dance floor. His fingers intertwine with mine instantly, warm and secure. The crowd has thickened, forcing us closer together as we navigate through swaying bodies.
We find a small pocket of space, and I turn to face him, already moving to the beat. His hands find my waist naturally. The shots have eliminated any remaining hesitation, and I let myself melt into the music, into the moment.
Bash moves with surprising rhythm for someone so tall, his body in perfect sync with mine. The lights flash across his face, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes as they remain fixed on me.
"You really know this song," he says with a smile as I mouth along to every word.
"It's my jam!" I shout over the music, raising my arms above my head and letting the beat take over.
I turn my back and press against him, feeling the momentary tension in his body. His hands find my hips immediately, steadying me as I move against him.
I respond instinctively, rolling my hips in time with the beat, feeling his grip tighten on my waist.
"Jesus, Charlie," he murmurs against my ear, and I feel a thrill of satisfaction.
The music pulses through me, low and heavy like a second heartbeat.
I continue to roll my hips, grinding back into him and feel his resolve as his hands explore my waist. His chest is solid against my back, his breath warm at my neck.
I raise my arms, letting my head fall back against him, the lights blurring into streaks of color above me.
For a moment, I lose myself in it. The rhythm, the heat, the way his body moves with mine like we’ve done this a thousand times before.
It’s electric, intoxicating, and I don’t care who’s watching or what it means.
Right now, it’s just the music and the way his fingers are exploring my body like he’s holding on for dear life.
I turn to face him, our chests almost touching, and look up. His eyes are dark, focused, and there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You’re trouble," he says. His hands drop to my hips again, pulling me closer.
"Me?" I tilt my head, feigning innocence. "I’m just dancing."
"Yeah, well, keep dancing like that and we might have a problem."
"A problem?" I grin, spinning away from him and then back, my hair twirling with me. "Or a solution?"
He laughs, a deep, warm sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "You’re impossible."
"And yet, here you are." I step closer, my lips brushing his ear. "Still dancing with me."
His hands slide to the small of my back, pulling me back against him. "Not exactly planning to stop either."
The song shifts, the beat slowing slightly, but we don’t pull apart. If anything, we move closer, our bodies swaying as the music wraps around us. His chin brushes the top of my head, and I feel the rumble of his voice when he speaks.
"So, how many of those Purple Hazes until you admit you’re having fun?"
"Who says I’m not?" I lean back just enough to meet his gaze.
"Just checking." His smirk widens. "Wouldn’t want to be the only one enjoying myself."
"Oh, trust me." I let my hands slide up his arms, feeling the muscles tense under my touch. "You’re not."
As I revel in the moment, my brain chooses this exact moment to betray me.
Have Ethan and his new shiny fiancée danced like this?