Chapter 17 #2
“Every single one,” he answered. “People started yelling, grabbing their shit, and slipping on the floor. Staff tried to help, but everyone rushed for the door.”
She laughed. “You got drenched during dinner?”
“Everyone did,” Dylan replied while I was laughing. “Most people left their plates. Our boy didn’t.”
“I wasn’t leaving a delicious steak on the table,” I argued. “I was hungry.”
She stared at me. “You carried it outside?”
“I finished it on the sidewalk,” I admitted.
Dylan shook his head. “There was water rushing out the front door, fire trucks pulling up, and he’s sitting on the curb with his plate in his lap, like nothing happened. I’ve got a picture.”
He unlocked his phone to find the pic, while Faye had to set her drink down, her shoulders shaking. “Damn. I bet you two have a lot of stories like this.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”
“Can’t wait to hear more.” She beamed.
“Here.” Dylan put the phone in front of her, showing a picture of me sitting on the curb, eating the steak I didn't have to pay for.
“Wow. That’s hilarious!”
A server walked over from the truck a few minutes later, arms full of plates. He set the food on the table.
“This all looks delicious,” Faye said.
“It does,” I agreed.
We dug in. The food was stupid good. Tender meat, flaky fish, and perfectly cooked veggies.
Faye looked out at the bay for a second, then back at us. “I’m happy we came.”
“Me too,” I told her.
“Same,” Dylan added.
We cleaned our plates and sat for a minute, finishing our drinks and letting the food settle. The night had cooled a little, just enough to be comfortable.
“Ready?” I asked.
“For dancing?” Faye probed.
“Yeah,” I answered.
She smiled. “Yep. Let’s go.”
We walked over to the bar to settle Dylan’s tab. The bartender wished us a happy New Year as we stepped off the deck and back into the lot.
“Okay,” Dylan said, stretching his arms over his head. “Dinner was a win. Now I need music.”
“And water,” Faye added. “I want to look out over the bay when the year turns.”
“We can do both,” I said, steering us toward the sound of live music and the strip of sand in front of the bars near the water.
The patio was open to the night, with string lights strung above and a small stage in one corner where a band played. People packed the space between the bar and the sidewalk, some already moving to the beat, drinks in hand.
We slipped through the crowd to the bar and waited until the bartender noticed us. Faye went for something fruity, while Dylan and I got beers.
After finding a spot for the three of us to stand, we sipped our drinks, listened to the music, and watched people dance.
“Finish those,” Faye urged after a few minutes. “I want to dance.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dylan agreed.
We finished our beers, left the plastic cups on a high-top table near the bar, and let her drag us into the crowd in front of the stage.
The band shifted into something fast and loud, with steady drums and bass thumping through the floor. People moved between the bar and the stage, some really dancing, others just shifting their weight, drinks lifted, wearing big smiles.
Faye stepped between us and moved to the music, soft and sure.
One arm looped around my neck, she pulled me down until I felt her breath.
Dylan slid in close behind her shoulder, his hand firm on her hip as he moved with her.
Nobody around us cared who she was. If anyone looked twice, they moved on quickly.
It was just the crowd, the music, and the clock ticking toward midnight.
We stayed through a couple of fast songs. Sweat rolled down my back. Dylan’s hair curled at the ends. Faye’s cheeks flushed pink, her eyes bright, her lipstick worn at the corners from her drink.
When the band eased into a slower tempo, Faye turned toward me without thinking, slid her arms around my neck, and pressed in.
“Hi,” she murmured.
“Hi,” I answered.
Her body fit against mine, warm and soft where the dress clung. My hands settled low on her back.
“Thank you for talking him into coming out,” she said, tilting her head toward Dylan.
“He talked himself into it,” I replied. “Eventually.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I wanted this too,” I admitted. “I don’t want to go home and feel like we wasted any of our time together.”
She rested her forehead against my chest for a second. “It already feels too fast.”
“It’s not over yet,” I reminded her. “We still have a couple of days here, and maybe we can come visit you in Boston before spring training.”
Her fingers brushed the back of my neck. “Really?”
“Yeah. We’re getting good at hiding out in hotels,” I half-joked, wishing we could stay in our villa and not have to go back to all the secrets.
“I guess we are.” She offered a tight smile.
The song wound down. She pressed a quick kiss to my mouth, then turned toward Dylan. He stepped in, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close. Her arms looped around his neck. For a second, they didn’t move, just stood there, breathing the same air.
My breath caught as I watched them, in a way that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with not wanting to lose any part of what we had.
The tempo picked back up. Faye reached for both of us and pulled us into the next song.
Time felt strange after that. More music. More sweat. Her mouth brushing mine between songs.
A woman in a sparkly tank dropped a plastic gold crown with the year on it into Faye’s hands. She popped it onto her head at a crooked angle and grinned. “Festive enough for you?”
“You were already festive,” Dylan replied. “Now you’re even more perfect, Princess.”
The singer finished the song and lifted the mic. “We’re about ten minutes out,” he said to everyone.
The crowd answered with whistles and shouts, people shifting closer to the stage or angling toward the bar to top off before midnight.
We moved with them to get champagne, then walked to the side of the dance floor to wait for the countdown.
A few songs later, the singer started the countdown, his voice booming over the speakers.
“Ten, nine, eight …”
Dylan stepped in behind Faye and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. I took her free hand in mine, champagne in the other.
“Seven, six, five …”
“I’m really happy right now,” she told us over the noise.
“Good,” I answered.
“Two, one!”
The place exploded. “Happy New Year!” Fireworks shot up somewhere farther down the waterfront, bright flashes streaking over the tops of the buildings. People yelled, clapped, and blew noisemakers. A couple right next to us started making out.
I leaned in and kissed Faye. She rose onto her toes and met me halfway, fingers clutching my shirt, champagne sloshing a little onto my wrist. Her mouth opened against mine, and the rest of the crowd blurred into noise.
When I eased back, Dylan turned her toward him and kissed her too, deeper, one hand in her hair, the other firm at her hip. She grabbed the front of his shirt in both fists and pulled him closer.
Someone near us whooped. Another voice yelled something about “hell yes,” but no one yelled her last name. No one lifted a phone.
When they broke apart, Dylan and I shared a bro hug.
“Happy New Year,” I said.
“Happy New Year,” he replied.
For once, it really was just our moment.
We stayed for another song or two, bodies pressed together, her tucked between us, hands wandering more than they probably should have in public.
Eventually, she leaned in closer to me, lips near my ear. “I’m getting hot.”
“You want to head back?” I asked.
Her gaze flicked to Dylan. “Yeah. I want you both to myself again.”
“Say less,” he answered.
We fought our way back to the bar, dropped our empty glasses, and headed toward the street. The air felt cooler away from the crowd.
A taxi rolled by, and I lifted a hand to flag him down. He pulled over, and we squeezed in.
Faye ended up in the middle again, crown still crooked on her head, legs pressed against ours. The driver pulled away from the curb after we gave him the villa’s address.
Her hand landed on my thigh, fingers tracing a slow line higher. Heat shot through me.
“You doing that on purpose?” I asked near her ear.
“Very much on purpose,” she answered.
On her other side, Dylan’s hand slid over her bare knee and disappeared under the hem of her dress. Her grip on my thigh flexed, a sharp inhale giving away exactly what his fingers were doing.
“Such a tease.” Faye giggled.
“Just impatient,” Dylan replied.
Five minutes later, the cab dropped us at the front door of our vacation spot.
Once inside, I pushed the door closed and turned the lock.
Faye leaned back against it, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, crown still on her head. “So,” she breathed. “It’s a new year.”
“Best one I’ve had so far,” Dylan said, stepping in close.
I reached up, slipped the crown off, and set it on the small table by the keys. My hand came up to her jaw, thumb brushing her skin. “Do you still want to make the most of what’s left of this week?”
Her gaze moved between us. “Yeah. I really do.”
“You’ve got us all night,” I told her.
Her mouth curved. “Then stop talking, J.”
“That’s the plan,” I murmured against her lips. We moved together down the hallway, leaving a trail of shoes and clothes behind us.
When we were all completely naked, Faye guided me back onto the bed with a knowing smirk. She pushed at my shoulders until I was lying on my back. She turned to Dylan and kissed him quickly. “You gonna watch me blow your brother?”
“Yeah, Princess. Let me see you work his dick like your favorite lollipop.”
She straddled my hips, then slid down my body—dragging her soft flesh over my hardening cock as she went—and took me into her mouth. I groaned, and my head fell back against the mattress. I let my eyes drift shut as I sank into the feeling of her tongue doing wicked things to me.