16
Amanda's world tilted when Ericka's fingers wrapped around her wrist, the warmth of her touch cutting through the tequila haze.
Before she could fully process what was happening, she was being pulled—not forced, not roughly, but with purpose—straight onto the dance floor.
Her feet barely caught up as they slipped into the sea of moving bodies, neon lights casting wild shadows around them. The music was louder here, deeper, heavier, pounding in her chest, matching the rhythm of her racing pulse.
Amanda blinked hard, still in absolute disbelief.
Ericka Matthews was on the dance floor.
With her.
And she was dancing.
And not just swaying slightly like someone who was too uptight to let loose.
No.
Ericka moved with intention.
Her hips rolled to the beat, fluid and confident, hands sliding through her loose waves as she let the music take over.
Amanda's brain went offline.
This was not the Ericka Matthews she knew.
This was something else entirely.
Samantha's voice was distant now, lost in the crowd, but Amanda barely noticed.
Because suddenly—Ericka was watching her.
Dark eyes locked onto hers, sharp and hypnotic, the neon lights flashing across her face, making her look even more untouchable.
Amanda swallowed hard.
The look in Ericka's eyes?
It was a challenge.
And then—Ericka smirked.
"Dance with me."
Amanda's breath hitched.
Before she could respond, before she could even think, Ericka reached out—hands sliding onto Amanda's waist, pulling her in, closer, close enough that there was no mistaking what was happening.
Amanda's body went rigid for a split second.
Then—the tequila kicked in, and she let go.
The music carried them, hips moving in sync, the heat between them blistering, Amanda mirroring Ericka's rhythm without thinking.
They were close. Too close.
Every time Amanda moved, Ericka moved with her, matching her pace, her energy.
There was no hesitation in Ericka's touch, no awkwardness—just smooth, practiced confidence, like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Like she had done this before.
Samantha wasn't moving.
She wasn't screaming, she wasn't hyping them up—she was just staring.
Mesmerized.
Because Amanda and Ericka?
They fit together too well.
It was effortless.
The way Amanda's body moved in sync with Ericka's, the way Ericka's hands had settled firmly, naturally on Amanda's waist, how they had somehow found the exact rhythm between them—like they had done this a thousand times before.
Amanda wasn't thinking.
She was just moving.
Moving with Ericka.
Until, suddenly, reality slammed into her.
Oh. My. God.
Her eyes snapped open.
Ericka's hands were still on her.
Their bodies were still close.
They had been dancing like this—with each other—in the middle of a crowded club, completely oblivious to anything else.
Ericka realized it, too.
Amanda felt her fingers tense slightly before she stepped back—quickly, but not too quickly. Smooth, controlled, like she was shutting something off.
Amanda did the same.
One step back.
Two.
A safe distance.
A very safe distance.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them breathed.
Then—
Samantha exhaled dramatically.
"Well. That was hot."
Amanda snapped her head to the side. "SAMANTHA."
Samantha raised her hands. "I'm just saying! I mean, are we gonna pretend that didn't look like a scene straight out of a movie?"
Amanda's face was on fire. "We are absolutely going to pretend that didn't happen."
Samantha cackled. "Oh, babe. I don't think Ericka is much of a pretender."
Amanda risked a glance at Ericka—
Only to find her already watching her.
Expression unreadable.
But something about her felt different.
The air between them felt different.
Amanda's heart was still racing.
She opened her mouth—to say what, she didn't even know—
But Ericka?
She simply smirked, calm, collected, in control once again.
And then she said—
"Another round?"
Amanda's stomach flipped.
Samantha squealed.
And just like that—the moment was gone.
Or at least—they were pretending it was.
Amanda needed another drink.
Immediately.
Her brain was still catching up, her body still way too aware of the fact that just moments ago, she had been pressed up against Ericka Matthews, dancing like they did this all the time.
Which they absolutely did not.
She followed Ericka and Samantha back toward the bar, desperate for the distraction, desperate for anything that would erase the last five minutes from her memory.
Samantha, of course, was having the time of her life.
She was still giggling, still grinning like she had just uncovered the juiciest office scandal.
Amanda glared at her. "Not. A. Word."
Samantha waved her off, sipping her cocktail. "Oh, babe. I'm saying everything."
Amanda groaned, dropping her head against the bar. Tequila, save me.
Ericka, on the other hand?
Completely unfazed.
She slid onto the barstool with the same effortless grace, leaning one elbow on the counter as if she hadn't just been dancing like a woman with zero inhibitions.
She turned to the bartender, lifting a single finger.
"Three more," she said smoothly.
Amanda lifted her head. "More tequila?"
Ericka just smirked. "Unless you're backing out?"
Amanda narrowed her eyes. "I don't back out."
Ericka tilted her head slightly. "Then drink up."
Amanda was in so much trouble.
The bartender set down three more full shots, and before Amanda could think too hard about what was happening, Ericka raised her glass.
"To the weekend."
Amanda and Samantha lifted theirs.
"To whatever the hell just happened," Samantha added, winking.
Amanda kicked her under the bar.
They all knocked their shots back, the burn familiar now, the warmth settling in Amanda's stomach.
She exhaled sharply, setting the glass down and turning back toward the dance floor, determined to focus on anything else.
But when she turned—
Ericka was already looking at her.
Amanda swallowed hard.
The night had finally begun to wind down.
The music was still pounding, the club still alive with the last wave of partygoers refusing to call it a night, but Amanda felt the exhaustion creeping in.
They had danced, they had drank, and they had—somehow, against all odds—survived whatever the hell had just happened with Ericka.
Amanda still wasn't sure how to process it.
And judging by the way Samantha kept giving her knowing looks, neither was she.
Amanda stretched, rolling her shoulders, the tequila still buzzing pleasantly under her skin. "Alright, I think I'm tapping out."
Samantha pouted dramatically. "Nooo, stay just a little longer."
Amanda gave her a look. "You said that an hour ago."
Samantha sighed, finishing the last sip of her drink. "Ugh. Fine. But only because I can feel my feet officially hating me."
As Amanda turned to grab her clutch from the bar, Ericka spoke up.
"I'll take you home."
Amanda froze.
Slowly, she turned back to face Ericka.
"...What?"
Ericka was completely composed, leaning casually against the bar as if she hadn't just offered to personally drive them home.
"I have a driver," Ericka said smoothly. "It's late. I'd rather you not try to find an Uber in this condition."
Amanda's brain stuttered.
Ericka was offering to chauffeur her home?
Samantha, meanwhile, was not helping.
Her entire face lit up. "OH, WE ARE DEFINITELY SAYING YES."
Amanda whipped around. "Samantha."
Samantha grinned, unapologetic. "What? It's a free ride, and I get to witness more of this weird tension that neither of you are acknowledging."
Amanda groaned. "We're acknowledging nothing."
Ericka?
She just smirked. "So, that's a yes?"
Amanda exhaled sharply.
Why was she even hesitating?
It was a simple offer. It didn't mean anything.
And yet—
It felt like something.
"...Fine," Amanda muttered, grabbing her bag. "But no detours, Matthews. Straight home."
Ericka's smirk deepened as she stood.
"I always get you where you need to go, Amanda."
Amanda's stomach flipped.
Samantha grabbed her wrist, whisper-screaming, "OH MY GOD."
Amanda ignored her completely.
Because suddenly, this ride home felt way more dangerous than a night out.