A huge orgasm slams into me and I stiffen in his arms, my loud moans swallowed by the blaring music as my body clenches around his fingers, over and over.
“Oh shit,” he says. “Yeah, baby. Do it.”
When the clenching and warping and rippling stops, I can barely stand. I nuzzle my face into his neck and he holds me close, supporting my entire body weight in his arms. He presses his body into mine as he holds me, and our bodies sway together to the loud, thumping music.
A new song begins. “In Da Club” by 50 Cent.
He suddenly pulls back from me and puts his hands on my face. His chest is rising and falling sharply. His gaze is intense.
By the look on his face, I’d guess he’s trying to decide if fucking me counts as losing the bet. Or, at least, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Did we decidekissingorfuckingends our stalemate? I can’t remember now.
Sweaty bodies are bouncing and swaying all around us on the dance floor, but we’re standing stock still, looking at each other, trembling with pent-up desire. I tilt my face up to his and close my eyes, inviting him to swoop in and kiss me already. But he doesn’t take the bait.
“Fuck,” he says.
I open my eyes.
He’s glaring at me like he’s enraged at me.
He releases my face, grabs my hand, and begins dragging me across the packed dance floor. It takes effort to snake through the sea of bouncing people, but finally we’re off the dance floor, working our way through the crowded club. The restrooms are in sight—but thereare long lines of people waiting to get into both sets. Is that where he was intending to take me? Or was he headed to the exit? Or maybe to the bar? Any of these destinations is equally possible, given our current location in the club.
He stops walking.
“Fuck,” he says, gripping my hand. He looks up at the ceiling for a brief moment, apparently gathering himself. “Goddammit.”
50 Cent raps his famous line about being intosexrather thanlovemakingand I can’t help but sing along at the appropriate moment.
Josh chuckles. “You’re hell on wheels, Kat. Jesus Christ.”
Out of nowhere, Reed appears next to us, swatting Josh on his shoulder. “Hey, man.”
“Oh, hey, bro.” Josh glances at me, a wistful smile on his lips. “Thanks for the song.”
“Did it work?” Reed looks at me. “Did you kiss him?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“No? Uh oh. Are you losing your touch, Faraday? I thought it was a foolproof plan.”
“Hell no, I’m not losing my touch. I’m wise and powerful; you know that. This woman’s not normal. She’s made of fucking steel or something—the most stubborn woman alive.”
“Oh, she’sstubborn, huh?” Reed says. “So she’s the female version of you?”
Josh laughs. “Hey, maybe that explains whyI find her so goddamned attractive.” He squeezes my hand.
Reed laughs. “So, hey, man, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He looks over his shoulder, zeroes in on some guy across the room, and motions to him. “I just signed this amazing guy to the label—a rapper-singer-songwriter-multi-instrumentalist. Oh my God, he’s so fucking incredible, man, I’m crapping myself that we got him. A year from now, mark my words, he’s gonna be the biggest thing in music.”
A blonde guy with tattoos walks up with a beautiful, dark-haired girl on his arm.
“Guys, this is Will Riley—’2Real’—one of the most talented songwriters and performers you’re ever gonna meet, no exaggeration—and his girlfriend, Carmen.”
“Aw, thanks, Reed,” Will says. “Hey, guys.”
Carmen smiles sweetly and waves at us in greeting—and she instantly reminds me of Sarah.
“This is my buddy, Josh Faraday, and his apparentlystubbornfriend, Kat.”
“Hey, Josh,” Will says. “Hey, Stubborn Kat. That sounds like a character from a comic strip—like some sort of badGarfieldrip-off.”
