Brooklyn
The electronic beat thumps so hard I can feel it in my ribcage, and I throw myself into the center of the dance floor, arms up, electrified by both the neon blue drink I just downed and the sweet, sweet fact that Mateo is back.
In my experience, it helps to have a signature move to warm up with, so I focus on my hands: they’re raking back my hair, sliding down my torso, reaching for the sky as I grind to the music harder and nastier.
I glance over my shoulder and watch my bestie shimmy his way over to me, Long Island iced tea in his hand, top few buttons of his shirt undone to show off a flash of SoCal-tanned skin. When Mateo catches my eye, we both grin megawatt smiles as we tear it up just like old times.
The River North club we’re at is banging.
As I twirl in my best friend’s arms I feel euphoric, like some part of me has been dying to let loose like this.
In fact, the vibe is enough all by itself—I didn’t even need the alcohol to feel a buzz.
Still, that doesn’t stop me from stealing a sip of Mateo’s drink. And then coughing fire.
“Nail polish remover!” I shout in his ear, making a grimace and pointing at the cup.
He lifts his brows and shoots me a smirk, draining the rest of it like it’s water.
Despite the feeling of pure freedom racing through me, I do miss my husband.
Luka and I have been going on more “dates” lately, and getting a lot closer.
I’ve even officially moved back into the master bedroom, and the marriage that once existed only for our image seems to be turning real at last. I couldn’t be happier.
At the same time, part of me is glad to be out on the town without him.
Luka’s made a big effort to leave his hard-partying days behind him, and the loud, sweaty, flashy clubs just aren’t his scene anymore.
On top of that, with the way Mateo and I get down and dirty on the dance floor, Luka would probably just feel like a third wheel.
Speaking of which, the song suddenly changes from Lizzo to an oldie that the entire club knows the words to, prompting a chorus of oooohhs from the crowd.
Soon enough, Mateo and I are grinding up on each other, mouthing sexy song lyrics like we mean them, pretending we’re in a music video.
I dissolve into giggles at the innuendo, grabbing Mateo’s shoulder for support.
Of course that’s when I see the unmistakable flash of a camera in my peripheral vision.
Mateo’s head whips in the direction of the camera, but I tug him back toward me.
“They want a show? Let’s give it to them!” I shout. I’m here to have fun, and I’m not going to let a couple of stalker paparazzi ruin my night.
I drop into a forward bend, almost touching the toes of my glittery spike heels, and shake my ass just inches from Mateo’s crotch.
He responds with a laugh and playfully slaps the side of my butt cheek.
The song changes again to something slower, and we naturally tone it down some as the pictures keep flying.
Finally, the photogs get bored and move away to find someone more exciting than us to take pictures of, or maybe it’s just that another fresh celebrity has made it through the velvet ropes outside.
But I know the paps will be back. They always are.
Totally out of breath, we weave through the crowd back to the bar and then find a place to sip our drinks and talk.
Mateo is back from LA (after a quick detour in Milan) and he’s heading to Egypt next week for yet another shoot.
In the past month, he’s been to four countries, and he’s certainly been no stranger to luxury while on location.
“I’m jealous.” I take a sip of my drink. “I can’t even hide it. I’m so jealous of you, Mat.”
He rolls his eyes like it’s no big deal.
“Why aren’t you flying all over the place yourself?” he asks. “I figured by now, you’d be up to something…bigger. Louder. I don’t know. No offense.”
I shake my head. “You know Maxilene was supposed to be my big shot,” I remind him. “But yeah. I’ve been busy, just not with anything of that caliber. Not yet, I mean.”
“You’ll get there,” Mateo says firmly. “I mean it. Your portfolio is hot.”
“The other thing is, it’s nice being home more. I like being close to Luka.” I can feel myself blushing as I say it, but it’s the truth.
Mateo puts a hand over his heart. “That’s so sweet. But do you really mean it, or are you just telling yourself that because you hate not having enough work right now?”
He sips his drink, and I laugh. “You know me too well,” I tell him.
“But it’s the truth. Since we got home from Vegas, our sex life has been off the charts.
And we’ve been talking more, and he holds my hand everywhere we go.
Things between us are working. Finally. I’m not in a hurry to give any of that up. ”
“Wow. Now I’m the jealous one.” Leaning over, he gives me a side-hug and a kiss on the top of the head. “I was always rooting for the two of you,” he adds. “I’m happy for you, Brookie. One more dance before we call it?”
He’s got to leave soon to rest up for an early morning commitment. Truthfully, I’ve had my fun tonight, but I feel ready to go home, too.
Mateo and I kick it up on the floor, his hands all over me, and mine on him.
I know that I should keep a low profile, but this kind of dirty dancing has always been our thing.
Besides, it’s harmless. I enjoy letting loose with him, having fun, not worrying what anyone else thinks.
And what’s life all about anyway, if you can’t dance like no one’s watching?
It’s 2 a.m. when the cab drops me off at the penthouse, Mateo giving me a quick hug before I slide out of the back seat. I take the private elevator up, unhooking my earrings on the way, and quietly slip off my shoes before stepping into the apartment.
Holding the heels in one hand, I tiptoe into the living room.
A light shines from the side table. Luka is on the couch, Mr. Kibbles passed out across his lap.
His phone is on the cushion next to him, an empty wineglass on the coffee table, some late-night TV talk show playing softly on the flat screen.
I was sure he’d be sleeping by now. In fact, I’m not sure if he’s awake or if he’s fallen asleep sitting up until he clears his throat.
“Hey you.” I greet him with a smile as I pad over to the sofa.
The muscle in his jaw flexes, and he doesn’t look over. “Where have you been?”
He’s pissed. My stomach does a little flip-flop.
“I told you Mateo was in town,” I say, a little confused at his attitude.
“That wasn’t what I asked.” He turns to look at me, eyes blazing. Mr. Kibbles’ head pops up, and he looks between us now, his little doggie brow knit with concern.
Rolling my eyes, I try to deflect. I’m in no mood for this. “We went dancing, officer. It was no big deal. And now I’m tired, so let’s go to bed.”
“Yes, I know you went dancing.” Luka shrugs my hand off his arm, reaches for his phone, and shows it to me. “It’s all over the internet. Again.”
I scroll through the racy pictures of me and my bestie grinding on the dance floor; it’s nothing people haven’t seen before. There was a time when I would have felt bad about something like this, but not now. The world knows that Mateo is just my friend. If they think more than that, it’s on them.
“What’s the big deal? The paparazzi always take photos when I’m out with Mateo. In fact, they’re probably more interested in him than in me. This is a normal Friday night.”
“You didn’t ask me first.” He snatches his phone back.
“Excuse me? Ask you first? Like I need permission?” I cross my arms, furious. “I’m an adult, Luka. You don’t get to police what I do all the time and where I go and who I’m out with. If that’s what you expect from this marriage, you need to think again.”
I’m not trying to goad him, but dammit, I’m a grown woman and I’m standing up for myself.
I learned early on in this relationship that when Luka has his hackles up, he tends to blow things out of proportion and say things he doesn’t really mean—but even still, I’m not going to turn the other cheek and just let him bully me.
I’m his equal. He needs to understand that.
“Obviously you can’t be trusted to make your own decisions,” he says. “Look at this shit! Your ass is in his face. More than once. It sends the wrong message.”
“How do you know it’s not the right message?” I shoot back. “I’m young and I’m an up-and-coming model for a high-profile agency.”
Luka stands up now, sending Mr. Kibbles running off into another room, but I don’t move an inch.
“This isn’t all about you, Brooklyn. This is about our image—”
“I get that part of my job is making DRM look reputable, but I have my own image to cultivate, too,” I say, cutting him off.
“Not just the image that we have together as a married couple—I want people to see that I’m bold and confident and fun, so stop walking all over that!
I’m not that wholesome, goody-two-shoes you tried so hard to get me to be! ”
“Try respectable! Try universally appealing! There’s nothing wrong with those things.” There it is again. That tone to his voice. “Besides, the press will always be looking for any hint of exploitable drama, so you’re just setting yourself up to be their gossip channel fodder!”
I’m about to lob back a retort, but all of a sudden an epiphany hits me. This isn’t just self-righteous anger or concern over our public image.
Luka Zoric is jealous.
“What are you smiling at?” he asks, looking even more pissed off. My grin only widens.
“You’re jealous,” I tell him. “I finally get it now.”
“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs, avoiding my eyes.
Nodding, I say, “I thought it was all about you and your image, but that’s just been an excuse this whole time. You’re jealous, and you always have been.”
And boy does that make me all warm and fuzzy inside.
“I have nothing to be jealous about,” he insists, sinking back down on the couch. “I just want you to think about what you’re doing, and the consequences.”
“Oh, I am. I’m thinking about it real hard.” I perch on the edge of the couch and take his hand. He lets me. “And the way I see it, you’re the one who benefits from my nights out with Mateo.”
“How’s that,” he asks, but I can hear the interest despite his cold tone.
“Well,” I say, running my fingers lightly up his arm, “the truth is, you do own my body.”
“Mm-hmm,” he agrees. He turns slightly toward me, his eyes catching mine.
I lower my voice to a purr. “So what happens when I go out is, I drink a little, bump and grind with Mateo a little, get myself all worked up, all turned on…”
“And then…” he coaxes.
Leaning over, I whisper in his ear, “And then I come home and I take it all out on you.”
I’m stroking the taut muscle of his forearm with my thumb, back and forth. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt and pajama pants, and he looks sexy as hell.
“Is that how it is?” he asks.
He cups my breast, his thumb lightly rubbing over my nipple. I can see the outline of his stiff cock through his lightweight pajama pants, and I can’t resist stroking him through the fabric. He presses up into my hand as his eyes take on that dark sheen of desire that I love so much.
“It is,” I say. “You ready for me to take it all out on you?”
He grins, but I can tell he’s still battling emotions. I stand and give his hand a tug. This revelation about his jealousy has opened up a new side of him I hadn’t seen before, and I like it.
I want him to want me, of course—and a little jealousy doesn’t hurt.
Leaning down toward him, I cruise the side of his neck with my lips, gently at first and then harder, more demanding.
His taste fills my hungry mouth, making me want to lick him everywhere.
As eager as I am, though, I take my time.
Enjoying the way his eyes fall closed as I trail kisses up and down his neck, over his collarbone, behind his ear, and finally, his lips.
He crushes his mouth to mine. I smile around the kiss.
Oh yeah. I’ve got him.
“Why don’t we go to the bedroom now and work off all this pent-up energy?” I murmur.
Without a word, he stands up and follows me down the hallway.
I think I’m going to like jealous Luka after all.