Page 11 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
“You say that like it’s a bad thing?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “I can definitely get with that. So, you don’t have a man, is that what I’m hearing?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I don’t.”
“Cool,” he replied. “Then let’s dance, ’cause I know you didn’t come here dressed like that just to sit in this dark corner alone.”
He stood and extended a hand to her again. She looked at it, then took another sip from her glass. Her purse was small enough to hold her phone, lip gloss, and the keys to her rental and house. It had a long chain strap, which she crossed over her body when she stood. “You are right about that,” she said, and accepted his hand.
Two hours later, Vanna’s feet hurt like the devil. The strappy open-toed silver sandals she’d worn tonight were fly as hell, but they were the kind of shoes that were meant to look pretty, not cut up on the dance floor. Which was exactly what she and Tyson had done. One song after another, fast ones and slow ones, they’d stayed on that dance floor for what felt like an eternity. A blissful, hard-earned eternity that she’d enjoyed every second of.
Except the parts where the straps of her sandals began to cut into her skin and the tips of her toes started to feel numb.
“You don’t leave anything at home when you come out, baby,” Tyson said. His hand was at the small of her back as they returned to one of the highboy tables on the outskirts of the space.
The bright lights down here didn’t bother her as much as they had when she’d first entered—probably because she needed them to help her stay awake now. Last time she’d glanced at her phone, it was nearing midnight, and both Jamaica and Ronni had checked in with her.
Ronni:You still dancin’ with Big Daddy?
Jamaica:You takin’ him home with you or nah?
To their texts, she’d replied:
Vanna:Yes and maybe, respectively.
A variety of laughing, water droplets, and eggplant emojis came through from both of them, and Vanna chuckled heartily.
“You have a beautiful smile,” Tyson said.
She beamed as she replied, “Thank you.”
That was probably the moment she decided to let him take her to a hotel tonight. She didn’t take randoms to her house, nor did she frequent theirs.
It was one thirty when she and Tyson left the club.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he said. “Then I’ll run around the back, get my car, and meet you here so we can head out.”
She nodded her agreement, counting down to the moment she was sitting in the driver’s seat so she could kick off these shoes. They’d just made it to her black rental when Tyson halted her urgency to the door and sweet relief. He snaked an arm around her waist in a move that didn’t bother her, since he’d touched her more than a few times while they were dancing. And once, while they’d been at the table, he’d pulled her into a hug that was tight and strong and had made her nipples hard.
So no, she wasn’t alarmed by his arms going around her this time, nor did she want him to release her. Even though he was stalling the shoe removal. Instead, she melted into his embrace and tilted her head up for the kiss she just knew was coming. And he didn’t disappoint—not in that way, at least. He lowered his face to hers slowly, touched his lips to hers ever so gently, and then ...
“Oh, no the hell you not out here about to get some other poor woman pregnant,” came a woman’s voice.
Vanna froze and blinked in question into Tyson’s caught-ass gaze. The way his brow had furrowed, his eyes looked equal parts apologetic and apoplectic, and his lips remained parted. Well, now they were parted in more of anOh shitformation, rather than theI’m about to kiss your panties offposture.
“Turn the fuck around, Tyson,” the woman stated.
She had to be close, because her voice was loud and seemed like she was right next to them. But when Vanna glanced to the side, she didn’t see her. Okay, so she was standing behind Tyson. Probably ready to pop him in the back of his head if he didn’t do as she said. Well, he didn’t move.
Punk ass.
Vanna pursed her lips and shook her head. Then she eased out of his grasp and took a few steps to the side. The movement put her closer to the door handle of her SUV, which was a relief. “I’m going to go now,” she said, and meant that to be her only comment to a situation she no longer wanted to be part of.
“Oh, you leavin’ so soon?” the woman asked. She had her hands on her hips and wore black legging shorts and a white Nike T-shirt that did nothing to hide her very pregnant belly.
“I am,” Vanna replied, since the question was obviously directed at her. “You two have a nice evening.”
“How exactly is it supposed to end up ‘a nice evening’ when you were just about to screw my man in the parking lot?” The accusatory tone was acceptable. This time. Hell, the woman wasn’t wrong in her assumption. Still, Vanna didn’t have time for these types of encounters, especially not with somebody she’d just met.
