Wish Come True (The Blogger Diaries Trilogy Book 3) (14 page)

But instead of laughing at me or throwing me off of him, he reaches between my legs and presses his fingers to my denim-covered center, causing my hips to jerk forward and a shudder to wrack my whole body. I wobble on my knees, unable to keep still. His touch weakens the strength in my legs, and finally, I sit back down.

He pulls my face to his with the other hand still tangled in my hair and whispers against my lips, “Is this all for me?” and I nod before kissing him thoroughly, dipping my tongue in to stroke the tip of his when he opens his mouth to me. He sucks my bottom lip between his teeth and I moan, pressing myself down onto his massaging fingers.
 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, my body detonates, sending bright lights through my vision as I look down into his gorgeous eyes, seeing a look of surprised triumph in his gaze before I curl forward, pressing my forehead against his shoulder as I ride the wave rolling through me. When he lightens his touch and I’m finally able to catch my breath I sit back up and look at him questioningly, my brow furrowed.

“What is it, baby?” he prompts, nothing but love in is happy expression.
 

“How the hell did that happen?” I squawk, throwing my hands in the air.
 

“Um…” He chuckles, obviously not knowing how to answer.

“No, you don’t get it. I’m the chick who couldn’t come to save her life until I was twenty and met you. Then, I go the last two and half years with only self-induced orgasms to tide me over, and then the second your hand barely touches my hoo-ha, it’s like Orgasm City without even having to go to Pound Town! What the fuck?” I end my rant by quoting one of our favorite comedy skits by George Lopez, which he sent me the link to on MySpace, “I swear to God, if you leave me, I’ll kill you,” and he bursts out laughing. I double over, giving into the fit of giggles I’ve been holding in.
 

He helps me into my seat, instructing me to buckle up, and then backs out of the parking space.

“Are you telling me where we’re going yet?” I sigh, reaching over to play with the super short hair at the back of his head.
 

“Nope,” he says, popping the P. “But it’s not far, so you won’t have to suffer for long.”

I glance at the clock, seeing it’s almost nine. Wherever he’s taking me, I hope he doesn’t plan to stay too long. I’m feeling brave enough now that I could pretty much throw him down and ravage him without a second thought of self-consciousness.

Not even five minutes later, we pull into a shopping center and find a parking spot.
 

“Are we going to IHOP?” I ask with a short laugh, seeing the brightly lit restaurant on the end of the building. Fitting, I admit, but this isn’t
our
IHOP. That one is close to his house.

He chuckles. “Nah, maybe after we leave the club I’ll take you to our old one, but I’m taking you over there.” He points in the other direction, and that’s when I see the neon sign in the corner of the shopping center that says Big Texas Dance Hall and Saloon.

“We’re going dancing?” I squeal excitedly, but then I look down at myself, seeing my holey jeans and T-shirt. “I didn’t really dress to go to a club.”

“You’re dressed perfectly for this one. It’s a country bar,” he tells me like that explains anything.

We show our IDs to the doorman and step inside, and the atmosphere is similar to the Palomino club Anni and I go to, with neon beer brand signs, dark wood bars, and country décor. We got here early enough there’s no cover charge, so we walk right up to the bar and order some drinks.
 

The place is huge, like four times the size of the club in Fayetteville, with a dance floor to match. I can’t wipe the smile off my face, watching the men in cowboy hats twirl ladies around the floor, people in the center of the circle dancing more slowly than the ones doing intricate spins and turns on the outer edge, but everyone moves in the same counterclockwise direction.
 

We find two stools open along the wooden counter that surrounds the circle and doubles as a guardrail, so I have the perfect view to watch with bright eyes and mouth gaping at some of the moves these couples are showing off. You’d never expect to see some of these partners. There’s a gentlemen well into his seventies dancing with a girl my age, but you can see the pure joy on her face as he spins her, throws her into a dip, and then—I shit you not—falls into a graceful split, gyrating his hips on his way back up to stand before twirling her once again. How the hell a man his age, in tight Wrangler jeans no less, could pull that off, I have no idea, but he looks badass.
 

There are the sets of best girlfriends giggling in the center of the circle, of course, trying to figure out how to two-step as they watch the couples around them. Then there are the partners who you can just tell are madly in love in this moment, holding each other as close as possible, her eyes closed, head pressed against his chest, trusting him to keep her safe as he leads her around the floor.

I’m so transfixed with what I’m seeing that I actually jump when Jason leans close to my ear and says, “I don’t normally like dance clubs, but I’ll come here anytime you want. There are never any fights, no shit-starting. People come here just to have a good time. Anyone—and I do mean anyone,” he nods at the old man still getting his groove on, “will come up and ask you to dance, whether you’re single or taken.”

“And guys don’t get pissed off when other men come up to ask their chick to dance?” I ask, astonished.

“Nope, it’s like an unspoken rule. I mean, the girl can always say no, but it’s all in good fun, so you’ll see all sorts of mismatched dance partners out there.” He smiles. “Do you know how to two-step?”

“I know a ton of line dances, but not how to two-step.” I shake my head then take a sip of my drink.

“Well, when a slower song comes on, I’ll teach you. It’s hard to learn during one of these fast tempo songs,” he explains.

“You know how to two-step? I didn’t peg you for the dancing type.”
 

“Do you know who my mother is? She was on her local
American Bandstand
type show when she was young. That woman can dance. And Dad is badass too. It’s that generation, I think. They swing dance and know all these crazy moves you see out there. My mom put me in ballroom dancing lessons when I was little, and then taught me a ton of stuff right in our living room.”

I look at him with my head tilted, trying to picture Jason ballroom dancing, and ‘Does Not Compute’ scrolls behind my eyes. It’s just something I’d have to see to believe.
 

“Oh, this one is perfect,” he says excitedly, taking my drink out of my hand and setting it next to his on the counter. He then threads his fingers through mine as he leads me onto the dance floor. We move to the center, where it looks like the beginners seem to migrate, and he pulls me close with one arm behind my lower back, keeping a hold of my hand. “Okay, loosen up your shoulders. Relax. I’m going to lead you, so all you have to do is let me guide you. You’re going to take two steps backward with your left foot first, then one with your right. So it’ll be left, together, left, together, right. Left, together, left, together, right. Got it?”

“I think so,” I reply, and with a “Ready?” and nod, we move. His right foot steps forward and my left one moves back, and it’s as if I don’t even have to think. With slight pushes to my hip with his hand around my waist, and little tugs to my hand in his, he moves me around the floor effortlessly. The only thing I have to pay the slightest bit of attention to is keeping up with the footwork pattern, while he spins me, rocks us in the opposite direction for a beat, and then switches us up. Our feet are backward, me moving forward now, but I still feel his tiny guiding movements as he continues to lead me. It reminds me of the way he used to take control of our lovemaking, even when he was on the bottom.
 

The song ends, and a more upbeat one begins, and I laugh as he spins us once again and I try to make my feet go fast enough to keep up with the tempo. Soon, I’m out of breath, so he pulls me to him for a lingering kiss in the center of the moving circle, couples twirling and laughing all around us, before walking me off the floor.
 

I hop onto my stool with a sigh then take a sip of my drink. It’s a little easier to picture Jason as a good dancer now that I’ve experienced how great of a lead he is. I took tap, ballet, and jazz for nine and a half years when I was young, and I’ll be forever grateful to my instructor, Miss Kim, for teaching me how to control my otherwise long, gangly limbs. I was not a graceful little girl until she got a hold of me and taught me how to hold my tall and skinny form with much better posture and elegance.
 

We sit and watch everyone dance for a few country songs, and I’m surprised that I don’t mind the music. I usually can’t stand country, but having the dancing couples to watch makes it bearable, and I even end up liking a few songs, typing the titles into my phone to remember to download them. That’s when I hear it, the opening notes of “Copperhead Road”, and I let out a squeal and jump from my stool. “I love this one!” I call to Jason over my shoulder as I scurry to the opening to the dance floor, following the counter back down until I’m directly in front of him still sitting in his seat.
 

“You wanna learn?” I shout to him over the music, stomping my foot along with everyone else on the floor, waiting for Steve Earle to sing the first line, our cue to start the steps to the intricate line dance.
 

He shakes his head with a sexy smirk. “I’ve got the perfect view. I’m just gonna watch you.”

“That doesn’t make me nervous at all.” I smile shyly and look down, watching my foot stomp one last time before moving into the actual dance. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as everyone nails the choreography at the same time, aligning just right with the song. After each set of steps, the crowd turns a quarter of a circle, and as I turn to face Jason once again, I glance up to see he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Normally, I would feel self-conscious with someone watching me so closely, but his eyes are dancing with a mix of happiness and heat, causing me to stand up a little straighter and put a little extra roll to my hips.
 

I spread my fingers and run both hands through my hair at my scalp, lifting it off my neck as I make another quarter turn, peeking at him over my shoulder and seeing his eyes have moved to my ass. It’s empowering realizing he can’t look away, especially with all the pretty girls around me, wearing cute dresses and cowgirl boots. But somehow he makes me feel like the sexiest person on the floor, even in my ripped-up jeans and plain grey T-shirt. I’m just glad I decided to wear my brown ankle boots. Otherwise, all this line dancing and two-stepping would’ve been nearly impossible.
 

As the song winds down to its final cords, and I turn to face Jason fully once again, my brows lower when I see his stool is empty, and I jump when I feel arms lock around my middle from behind. But one glance down at the tattooed forearms lets me know my man has decided to join me on the dance floor. Surprisingly, it’s a hip-hop song that comes on, and Jason smiles at the pleased look on my face.

“That’s usually how it goes here. They’ll play like five or six two-stepping songs, then a line dance, and then a set of like three what I call booty-shaking songs. I figured you’d like that,” he says, moving his hips against my ass as I start to sway. The deejay has mashed 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” with Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer” and the remix is sexy as hell. “Closer” is baby-makin’ music to begin with, but by adding the harder bass of the hip-hop track to the rock song, it manages to make it even hotter.

Jason grabs a hold of my waist and turns me to face him, and I wrap my arms around his neck, sliding my fingers up the back of his short hair. As we rock and grind to the beat, I unconsciously close my eyes and bite my lower lip, feeling his muscled thigh press between my legs at their apex. As amazing as he is in bed, I should have known dancing with him would be a sexual experience in itself. The remix ends, but we continue moving together as it bleeds into Usher’s “Yeah”, snapping me out of the rapey mood that consumed me for the past three minutes and into a goofy one.
 

I throw my head back and laugh, calling out, “Oh, my God. Prom, class of oh-three, baby!” I turn around and bend over, shaking my booty against him, and I feel his hands clamp onto my hips. I’m grateful for the extra steadiness they provide as the alcohol I’ve been consuming starts to catch up with me. He spins me and pulls me upright, leaning in for a kiss, but I cut it short, making him laugh when I grab my small boobs in both my hands, pouting while I sing along with the featured rapper, “Ludacris fill cups like double-Ds,” making Jason burst out laughing.
 

The hip-hop set ends with Flo Rida’s “Low”, and after following the singer’s instructions to, “turn around and give that big booty a slap,” Jason doesn’t allow me to dodge his kiss, locking his strong arms around me while I giggle. I’ve never had this much fun at a club without my girlfriends, and I find myself looking forward to future times he and I get to come back to this one.
 

We stay for a few more rotations between two-stepping songs, line dances, and hip-hop tracks, and by the time we leave, I’m ready to jump on Jason right there in the middle of the dance floor. I feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust I’m so freaking turned on. When we get in the car, I mentally threaten him, thinking he better take me straight to his house, or if he tries to take me somewhere before then, I’m gonna have a female-equivalent-of-blue-balls-fueled hissy fit.

He must receive my telepathic message, because twenty-three minutes later, we pull into his driveway. As they always used to be at this time of night, all the lights inside the house are off, and the garage doors are closed, so we take the walkway to the front of the house, entering through the front door.