Page 30 of The Little Black Book

Her movements stutter, and she straightens, pulling away quickly and spinning to face me. Her cheeks are flushed as her eyes dart to my left, but before I can follow her gaze to see what’s captured her attention, she plasters herself against me and presses her mouth to mine.

I freeze in shock, but she continues, pushing her tongue into my mouth and moaning like a porn star. Gripping her shoulders, I hold her still as I pull back to meet her eyes.

“What are you doing?” I ask, unable to keep the accusation out of my voice.

Whatever it is, it’s obvious she’s not all over me because she can’t help herself. She’s putting on a show, and I want to know why. And for whom.

Her eyes dart to my left again before she mutters a quiet apology and rushes off the floor. I look over in the direction Abigail was looking, but all I see is a group of women dancing together, none of them even glancing my way. Shaking my head, I make my way off the floor and toward Zoey and Ava.

“What was that all about?” Zoey asks, keeping her eyes on the dancers as I motion for the bartender to bring me another beer.

“I have no fucking idea,” I say, careful not to look at her.

The last thing I need is for Abigail to return and see me talking to another woman. This date might have gone to hell already, but I’m notthatguy. The guy who looks for greener pastures at the first sign of adversity.

“Something is obviously going on with her,” Zoey says. “Maybe one of her exes is here, and she’s trying to prove a point.”

“Maybe,” I say, thanking the bartender for the beer and turning to face the dance floor. “And I’m fine helping her show some guy she’s moved on, but I don’t want to be a tool to try to make him jealous and get him back.”

“Oh, shit.”

That declaration bursts from Ava, and my head snaps toward her. She’s staring at the edge of the dance floor, her mouth hanging open, and I look over to see what’s caught her attention. I don’t see anything, at first, but then a couple shifts to the side revealing Abigail…grinding against another woman.

I can feel the sizzling chemistry from here as the woman’s hands slide down Abigail’s hips. Her fingertips brush the skin of my date’s thighs beneath the hem of her dress just before she leans in and whispers something in her ear. Abigail’s cheeks burn red, but she nods, earning a wide smile from her dance partner.

Then they kiss, and it’s nothing like the performance Abigail put on with me. It’s raw and unfiltered, exploding with passion as their breasts press together. Abigail slides her hands into the woman’s curly dark hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The woman presses her palms to Abigail’s ass, squeezing the flesh and pulling her even closer.

“Well, I guess that explains it,” Zoey says, turning to face me. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

I shake my head and heave a sigh. “Another one crossed off the list.”

“At least you know it’s not you,” she offers. “I mean, itisyou, but it’s because you don’t have the right parts, not your personality.”

“Thanks. That’s really helpful,” I say sarcastically, and Zoey grins.

“Anytime, friend.”

When I look back toward the floor, Abigail is headed in my direction, her new friend conspicuously absent. She looks nervous, shifting her weight from foot to foot when she stops in front of me.

“Sam, I…”

“It’s okay,” I say when her words trail off. “I understand.”

“I wasn’t…” She pauses to take a deep breath. “Monique and I were together for a while, but I wasn’t ready to fully admit to myself that I’m…that I’m not really attracted to men. I really thought you and I could have something special, but I saw her when we came in, and all those old feelings rushed back to the surface. I really am sorry.”

“I understand,” I repeat, dipping my head to look her right in the eyes. “You want who you want. I hope you two will be happy together.”

Her mouth curves up slightly, and she nods. “Thank you, Sam.”

I give her a smile, and she leaps forward to hug me before pulling back just as quickly. Turning, she hurries toward the exit, where Monique waits for her. Locking their hands together, they leave the bar on quick feet.

I turn back to Zoey and Ava. “Shots?”

“Definitely,” Ava says, calling out to the bartender for some top-shelf tequila.

“Do we really have to dance with the devil?” Zoey says with a frown.

“The devil?” I ask.

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