Page 7 of Dibs
“C’mon,” he says, leading me to the dance floor.
We both kick off our shoes and join our dirty hands in mid-slow dance as Deanna Carter sings about young love and innocence. Ignoring everyone’s stares as we sway in each other’s arms, I feel safe and content against Deacon’s chest. We aresweatier than everyone else and a lot more sober, but after the dance, we catch up by doing a few tequila shots together at the bar and then head back out to the dance floor. When Deacon puts his hands on my hips and uses them to move me around the dance floor, the butterflies intensify until I’m breathless. His hands on my body feel good, and when he pushes a stray strand of curled hair behind my ear, my heart speeds up.
What on earth is happening tonight?
I glance up at the full moon and blame it on her silvery-blue beauty and the chaos she brings with her.
Around eleven-thirty, Tara finds me at the bar, and she asks me with wide eyes, “Is it over with you two, then? You haven’t danced together once.”
The alarm on her face breaks my heart, and I try to calm my trembling upper lip. I want to burst into tears and tell her I hadn’t been able to make Sean loyal to me, and apologize that we’ll never be sisters-in-law, as we both have always wanted.
“Tara, honey, I didn’t want to ruin your night. This is a day you’ll never have again. Why don’t we talk more when you get back from Jamaica?” I rest my hand on her shoulder and give her a small, comforting smile.
“But you’re the sister I always wanted!” Tara’s eyes fill with tears, and she leans forward to hug me tightly. “What did my brother do?”
With a sigh— “He cheated.”
“That fuck!” Tara practically shouts.
I shush her as she curses her brother the same way I want to.
“I just don’t understand. When someone finds a woman like you, they’re supposed to hold on to her. Not fuck around with other people. You’re the best he could ever do!”
Her words heat me and comfort me. “Thanks for that, honey. Please don’t let this bring you down tonight. You have one handsome husband to go dance with. And things will change,Tara, but don’t let him force you to cut me out. When you get home, I want to see all your photos and videos and hear about the honeymoon, okay? I hope it’s the best time of your life. You’re a perfect bride, girl.”
I smooth away a few stray strands of hair and wipe a black mascara tear from her face. “Go back to your hubby and dance!” I command her. “Don’t worry even a little bit about me.”
Finally, Tara obeys, and I lean against the bar with a heavy sigh.
“Well, that sucked,” the bartender sighs from behind me, startling me. His name tag says, “Anders.”
“It was hard to pretend I was still with her brother when I couldn’t even look him in the eye all day.” I roll my eyes.
“So, you’re not dating the tall blond dude with the musculature of Thor?” Anders asks, pouring me another tequila while I laugh and explain that Deacon is just a friend.
As I talk with Anders, he flirts, and I throw back a few more shots, which is probably what leads to my final act of the evening—stumbling upstairs to the rooms and putting my key card in front of every door that starts with a “22,” hoping to find my room through blurry vision.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as the door lock lights up green and lets me in. I’d temporarily forgotten that Anders was following me up here, and I’m confused when he follows me into the room.
“You asked me if I wanted to fuck. I said hell yeah. I thought that was pretty clear,” Anders chuckles. He grabs my braid and tugs me closer with it. Anders kisses me deeply, all tongue, as a fog descends over me, my ability to say no depleted.
“Let me help you with this dress,” Anders says, reaching around my body and tugging it down.
“Out!” A stern voice shouts.
I open my eyes, my body swaying as my gaze finally focuses on Deacon, who reiterates, “I said out!”
Anders holds up his hands. “She asked me, man!”
“Consider yourself unasked!”
“Goodnight,” Anders calls as he turns and walks away.
Deacon shuts the door. “You’ll just feel worse about yourself if you sleep with him tonight,” Deacon stands in front of me with his tie unknotted most of the way, looking disheveled but beautiful. “And you’re so drunk, you can’t consent, anyway.”
“I can’t get my dress off,” I whine, reaching back for the zipper that Anders must have re-zipped. “I’m sweaty and so uncomfortable! And-and you...you ruined my fun!” I don’t mention, mere seconds ago, I had forgotten about the “fun” I wanted to have, overlooking the fact that I had a plus one chasing after me up to the room.
Deacon unzips my dress, letting it plunge to the floor, and then he helps me step out of it without tripping. I feel vulnerable in front of him in nothing but a strapless nude bra and matching underwear. Not that he’d never seen me in a skimpier bikini—I had people over to my parents’ place all the time for swimming parties, but this feels different somehow. More intimate. Dangerous, even.
