Trey grins like I just told him his favorite secret. “You’re something else, you know that?”
I swallow hard, not sure how to respond, so I just offer a small smile.
The bartender slides a drink across the counter, a deep red concoction with a tiny umbrella sticking out of it. I take a sip, the taste of rum and berries coating my tongue, sweet with a kick underneath.
“You ever been in a DJ booth before?” Trey asks as soon as I lower my glass.
I shake my head. “No, never.”
“Come on, then,” he quips, motioning for me to follow.
We weave our way through the crowd, Trey leading with an easy confidence, while I navigate carefully, making sure not tospill my drink. Ireallywant to take another sip to calm my nerves, but I hold off as we reach the booth.
A guy with shaggy blond hair and a backward cap glances up from the soundboard.
“Colt, this is Jules,” Trey introduces.
Colt grins, handing me a pair of headphones. “You ready to jam?”
My eyes widen. “Yes?”
Trey laughs. “Don’t sound so scared, Jules.”
I take a quick sip of my drink, gathering myself before handing it over to Trey. Then, I take the headphones from Colt, slipping them on. He motions for me to leave one ear uncovered.
“Alright,” Colt says, flipping a few switches, “you want to keep the beat going. Smooth transitions. Keep the energy up.”
I have no idea what I’m doing, but I follow along as he walks me through it. What buttons to touch, how the turntable works, when to shift the tempo. It’s interesting in a way, like painting with sound instead of color. But it doesn’tsparkanything in me. Not the way a brush in my hand used to.
After a while, Trey leans in close. “Wanna dance?”
I hesitate for half a second before handing the headphones back to Colt.
Trey grabs my hand, tugging me toward the dance floor.
And I let him.
Iwantto let him.
Maybe if I let go enough, I’ll finally feel something real.
Trey’s hands find my waist, tugging me closer. My shoulders stiffen instinctively, but I force myself to relax. This is just a dance. It’s not life-changing. It’s not permanent. It’s not like the tattoo he gave me a few days ago, inked into my skin forever.
His body moves against mine, slow and steady, keeping time with whatever deep bass Colt has thumping through the speakers.
“Relax, Jules,” Trey coaxes in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. I nod and let my hands slip around his neck, my fingers brushing against the hair at his nape.
I want to relax.
I want to feel something.
But it’s just…
When I met Corbin, Iknew. I knew down to my bones that I would go to the ends of the earth for him. That I would shape myself into whatever he needed—wanted—even though he never asked me to. I gave up pieces of myself without thinking, without hesitation. Because it wasn’t sacrifice if it washim.
With Trey, it’s fun. It’s new. But it lacks something.Depth, maybe?I can’t quite put my finger on it. And maybe that’s the problem. If I have tolookfor something, it’s probably not there.
Am I even really giving him a chance?
