Page 36 of Snapshot

Dex is the one who helped me move my mattress into the apartment two years ago. It was already lumpy when I got it from the secondhand store, but I was just proud it was queen-sized and not a dormitory-looking twin mattress. It felt like a grown-up’s bed.

“Let your landlord take it to the dump. You can have my guest bed. It’s the same size as yours. I don’t need it.”

“Awfully chivalrous of you.”

He pumps his eyebrows at me. “Or maybe I just don’t want to ruin my manicure by moving your bed.”

I roll my eyes. “I was kidding.”

He smirks. “All right, let me grab my keys.” Standing up straight, he stretches his arms overhead. His thin T-shirt hugs all the tight muscles of his abdomen, and as usual, I’m hypnotized. Alan and I aren’t together, but I still feel guilty gawking at Dex.

“Are you headed somewhere?” I ask, taking a step back off his porch.

“We,” he says, pointing to his chest, then mine, back and forth, “need something stronger than beer. We’re going out.”

“I’m in jean shorts, a tank top, and cowgirl boots. And I’m sweaty and smelly from moving stuff into my car all day.”

“Yeah, what’s up with the boots?”

“As I was clearing stuff out, I found them in the back of my closet. I put them on to see if they still fit. They’re so comfortable, I forgot to take them off.”

“Well, they’re perfect for where we’re headed.” He steps out of the house onto the porch right in front of me. I normally don’t let myself get this close to Dex. My knees get weak when he’sthis close.

To Dex, every look, touch, and smile is normal and friendly. To me? It’s an exercise of self-control. It’s been three years since I made a move, and he clearly indicated he’d rather be friends. For three years, I’ve pretended like we made the right decision.

When he leans down, he puts his face near my breasts, and I pray to every god, shadow, and spirit that exists that he can’t hear how hard my heart is pounding. He sniffs twice. “You’re good. You smell fine to me. Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

10

Dex

Lennox sways her hips to the loud country music as she makes her way over to where I’m sitting at the bar. She even goes as far as shaking her head side to side so her long, purple hair fans out and drapes over her bare shoulders.

Fuck, it’s too sexy.

Stop walking towards me like that. It makes me want to do something about it.

“Hey,” she shouts over the music, still rolling her shoulders to the beat. “Can I convince you to come dance with us?”

“Not a chance,” I say definitively.

“Do you suck at it? I can teach you.”

I nod over her shoulder. “Like you did your new biker buddies?” Only Lennox could get a gang of late-aged, tattooed bikers doing the electric slide and drinking razzle dazzle cocktails. It’s her superpower. She can make friends with anybody, anywhere. Her spirit is contagious.

She looks to the opposite side of the bar, where the bar-goers pushed tables and chairs to the side to arrange a makeshift dance floor. “I’m proud, actually. Only five minutes of instruction and they look pretty good out there, right?”

No. You look good out there.“If you say so.”

She pushes against my shoulder with two fingers. “Come on. Scared?”

“I can dance. I’m choosing not to.”

She reaches over me and grabs my drink. After taking a hefty swig of my bourbon, she cringes. “Bleh, I didn’t know they had lighter fluid on the menu.” But she takes another small sip before handing my glass back as the song’s chorus starts to kick up. “All right, you’ll find me on the dance floor if you need me.”

“Hey,” I say, stopping her.

“What’s up?” She catches my gaze, her big brown eyes a little hazy from the booze. Her cheeks still flushed from all the dancing.

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