up with, so I focus on my hands: they’re raking back my hair, sliding down my torso, reaching for the sky as I grind to the music harder and nastier.
I glance over my shoulder and watch my bestie shimmy his way over to me, Long Island iced tea in his hand, top few buttons of his shirt undone to show off a flash of SoCal-tanned skin. When Mateo catches my eye, we both grin megawatt smiles as we tear it up just like old times.
The River North club we’re at is banging. As I twirl in my best friend’s arms I feel euphoric, like some part of me has been dying to let loose like this. In fact, the vibe is enough all by itself—I didn’t even need the alcohol to feel a buzz. Still, that doesn’t stop me from stealing a sip of Mateo’s drink. And then coughing fire.
“Nail polish remover!” I shout in his ear, making a grimace and pointing at the cup.
He lifts his brows and shoots me a smirk, draining the rest of it like it’s water.
Despite the feeling of pure freedom racing through me, I do miss my husband. Luka and I have been going on more “dates” lately, and getting a lot closer. I’ve even officially moved back into the master bedroom, and the marriage that once existed only for our image seems to be turning real at last. I couldn’t be happier.
At the same time, part of me is glad to be out on the town without him. Luka’s made a big effort to leave his hard-partying days behind him, and the loud, sweaty, flashy clubs just aren’t his scene anymore. On top of that, with the way Mateo and I get down and dirty on the dance floor, Luka would probably just feel like a third wheel.
Speaking of which, the song suddenly changes from Lizzo to an oldie that the entire club knows the words to, prompting a chorus of oooohhs from the crowd. Soon enough, Mateo and I are grinding up on each other, mouthing sexy song lyrics like we mean them, pretending we’re in a music video. I dissolve into giggles at the innuendo, grabbing Mateo’s shoulder for support. Of course that’s when I see the unmistakable flash of a camera in my peripheral vision.
Mateo’s head whips in the direction of the camera, but I tug him back toward me.
“They want a show? Let’s give it to them!” I shout. I’m here to have fun, and I’m not going to let a couple of stalker paparazzi ruin my night.
I drop into a forward bend, almost touching the toes of my glittery spike heels, and shake my ass just inches from Mateo’s crotch. He responds with a laugh and playfully slaps the side of my butt cheek. The song changes again to something slower, and we naturally tone it down some as the pictures keep flying. Finally, the photogs get bored and move away to find someone more exciting than us to take pictures of, or maybe it’s just that another fresh celebrity has made it through the velvet ropes outside. But I know the paps will be back. They always are.
Totally out of breath, we weave through the crowd back to the bar and then find a place to sip our drinks and talk. Mateo is back from LA (after a quick detour in Milan) and he’s heading to Egypt next week for yet another shoot. In the past month, he’s been to four countries, and he’s certainly been no stranger to luxury while on location.
“I’m jealous.” I take a sip of my drink. “I can’t even hide it. I’m so jealous of you, Mat.”
He rolls his eyes like it’s no big deal.
“Why aren’t you flying all over the place yourself?” he asks. “I figured by now, you’d be up to something…bigger. Louder. I don’t know. No offense.”
I shake my head. “You know Maxilene was supposed to be my big shot,” I remind him. “But yeah. I’ve been busy, just not with anything of that caliber. Not yet, I mean.”
“You’ll get there,” Mateo says firmly. “I mean it. Your portfolio is hot.”
“The other thing is, it’s nice being home more. I like being close to Luka.” I can feel myself blushing as I say it, but it’s the truth.
Mateo puts a hand over his heart. “That’s so sweet. But do you really mean it, or are you just telling yourself that because you hate not having enough work right now?”
He