Page 227 of Enemies

I can wish he didn’t leave me, but I can’t change that he did. But I wouldn’t rewind time and erase what happened between us. I wouldn’t even erase the hurried sex in his bathroom last week.

The more I stare at him, the more I realize…

I wouldn’t erase a thing.

We never should have been, and that only makes me cling more determinedly to what we were. What we are. Even if we’re not a couple and I’m not hoping for a happily ever after with this man, something between us is alive and teeming, now, in this basement.

So, I play for him.

I choose the songs, tracks that will move the crowd and fit the stripped-down theme of “Come As You Are,” but that also fit us. I create a new set on the fly, my fingers moving as fast as my mind.

This set is my own personal mixtape for my fuck-hot ex.

He watches like he knows it.

My body is on fire. After a couple of drinks, coupled with the power of this place, I could touch myself right here.

I could come from it.

I could beg for it.

Does he feel the same way?

He’s still watching. He hasn’t looked away.

Take no prisoners.

I flip him off, then run my tongue along the side of my finger. I swear his eyes darken.

In the VIP booth overhead, he widens his stance, adjusts his pants, then rubs the bulge in the front.

My throat dries.

I change the track to the one I made last summer, the one I told him he could jerk off to and think of me.

His movements stop as if he knows what I’m doing.

It’s a filthy dare he can’t possibly take me up on.

Maybe it’s the night or the frustration between us, or maybe I’m just that goddamned good, because the silver on his belt flashes in the light as he flicks it open.

Holy shit.

Then his hand is inside. He starts again, slower.

The expression on his face…

It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life.

I’m a live wire now, my skin prickling as heat rushes over me.

My core throbs. On stage, I can’t slide a hand between my thighs without being seen, but I want to rub on Harrison, on my own fingers, on anything.

This club is more than a third wheel in this transaction. It’s part of both of us, one we won’t ever give up.

For the next song, I split my attention between the partiers and Harrison. If I stare up too long, someone will figure out what’s happening.

That the most fully dressed man in this place is stone-cold sober and fucking his hand.

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