My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon - Lauren Landish Page 0,80
ask Abigail, and she beams.
“Let’s do it!”
The top deck of the ship’s been turned into a dance club complete with lights, lasers, and bass-heavy music. I want to dance with Abigail, hold her in my arms and sway with her. Not for sex this time but just to feel her energy.
“All right, cool cats and kittens . . . everyone on the floor. Now’s your chance to win a helicopter tour of the island. How, you ask?” Nobody did, but people are definitely listening to the announcer now. “Our B-yacht-ch nightly dance contest!”
“What do you think?” I ask Abigail.
She bites her lip, looking uncertain. “I’m not really a great dancer. I like to dance, do Zumba with Courtney sometimes when she makes me, but my head-ass connection doesn’t seem to work as well as other women’s. They twerk. I look like I’m having a seizure.”
“I’m sure you look beautiful,” I say encouragingly. “And we danced at Courtney’s wedding. You did well, very well.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that was some slow dance swaying, but never fear, you’ll see what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Even as she puts herself down, she grins as though she can’t wait to show me just how bad of a dancer she is.
We take to the floor, and I grab her hand, twirling her in a circle around me. She prances with nervous eyes locked on me for cues.
The rules are explained, and it’s pretty simple. Keep dancing until one of the judges touches you on the shoulder. If you’re tapped out, there are chairs around the deck where you can sit and cheer for your favorite contestants.
I can already feel my pulse starting to race as I pull Abigail to me. I lead her in a classic square step to see if she can follow a lead, and to my delight, she does remarkably well. I even dip her, and she leans back easily, trusting me to support her like we did at yoga. When she returns to standing upright, her body is aligned with mine fully.
“I want you,” I whisper honestly over the music. “I want you in every way, every day I can have you.”
It’s a big confession from me, a hint that I’m thinking beyond this week. I don’t know what the future holds, I never do, but the idea of spending it without Abigail makes it seem pointless. We could do so many things, show each other so much.
“You . . . you have me,” Abigail responds, but there’s a question in her eyes. She can feel that I’m saying more but isn’t pushing me. Not yet.
The music comes to an end, and I finish with a big spinning lift that has our lips a paper’s thickness apart.
Well, of course we make it through. Emily and Doug, I note, make it through as well, mainly because while Doug dances like he dresses, about as bland as beige khakis, he at least can keep to a basic rhythm.
Off to the far side of the floor, I see Janey dancing with a trio of young girls, all of whom made it too.
“Partner up,” the voice announces. “It doesn’t have to be someone you know, but be warned, you’ll know them after this.”
Chairs are brought out and placed around the dance floor. I see guys starting to sit down, so I do the same. Janey’s got one of her new friends seated in front of her.
A slow, sexy synth beat starts, and Abigail jumps up and down, clapping as she gives me a huge grin. “Oh, my God, I know this one!”
I think she means the song, but doesn’t everyone know Ginuwine’s Pony? Not that I watched Magic Mike, but I’ve been known to dance to this a time or two myself in the club.
Abigail does a slow, seductive sway of her hips. “When I go to the gym with Courtney, this is a song in Zumba class. I don’t remember exactly how it goes, but I think I can fake my way through well enough.”
I growl at the way she’s tracing her hands over her circling hips. “Doing great, mia rosa.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she warns sassily, confidence oozing from her now
She’s right. She rolls her hips, flirts with the hem of her dress, drops it down, butterflies her legs open, and a whole bunch of other moves she apparently learned in this class. All the while, she takes every opportunity to rub herself against me, driving me wild.