Page 63 of Back for Seconds

My breath snagged. All I could do was nod.

“And I would never call you or any woman a bitch,” he said, tone gentle as he flexed his legs around me, drawing me into his chest. “Ever.”

I swallowed against the growing swell of desire in my chest. “You’re treacherous, Pagano.”

His mouth flickered out of its harsh line. “Why? You don’t like it when I boss you around?”

“I like it.” I fluttered my eyes at him. “Within reason.”

“Ok. Then listen to me: I am not your ex. I’m not perfect, but I’m not your ex. I would never ever let you slip away.” He leaned forward. “Ever.”

“You let Amber slip away,” I said softly. Doing the thing Joey kept accusing me of—trying to be right.

His lips tensed into a purse. “I did. I let Amber slip away. But you aren’t Amber.”

I felt myself leaning into him, millimeters slipping past as I was drawn in by his low voice. “Ok,” I whispered. “I believe you.”

“Good.”

Then he pulled me into an honest-to-goodness hug.

A bear hug, even. Arms wrapped around me, his cheek pressed against my hair. His smell enveloped me; the clean laundry scent of his hoodie, the warm spice of his skin. I squeezed him back, let myself press fully into as many inches of him as I could reach.

When we broke away, he kept his arms loose around my waist, holding me close to his chest.

“We’re gonna survive this shit,” he said, gaze soft and hazy. “I have a feeling.”

I made a small noise. His lips looked perfect—plush and mauve. Without thinking, I reached my thumb out to stroke the little laugh line forming on the right side of his mouth. “I agree.”

He angled into my finger, lips catching against the pad of my thumb. Grazing ever so gently over my skin until my breath snagged in my throat.

Down the hall, a door slammed open.

“Wooooo, baby! It smells goooood in here. And I need a fucking coffee.”

Joe pulled back, expression snapping into confusion. “What the…”

I grinned. “Time for you to meet my roommate.”

Joey stayed long enough to be utterly charmed by Mimi, to get the entire spiel on Biff and a few bonus Mimi anecdotes. When he finally said goodbye, the sun was low and hot pink in the sky and Mimi was officially coming to Joey’s Noche Buena tomorrow night.

Just like that, December twenty-third had passed.

Gone. Over. Kaput.

***

That night, while scrolling mindlessly, my phone dinged with a text—from Joey.

He’d sent me a link to a video. Tomorrow night. Start practicing.

I clicked it, then watched as a couple filled my screen and began dancing bachata. They worked their bodies together, swaying in a synchronized, rhythmic conversation. The woman flicked her hips with smooth pulses, moving counter to the quick steps of her feet. All the while, her partner mirrored her steps, pressing his hips forward as she arched backward, his hands acting as a guide as they moved up and down the steady, muscular column of her back. I was filled, simultaneously, with terror and heady desire.

Did he really want to dance like this with me? Did I really have to try and dance like that? Wait, no, not really like that. That was impossible for me. But maybe I could pull off a rudimentary perversion of the woman’s quick movements. I could sway my hips; step left twice, step right twice. How many times had I been pulled into a group dance at a wedding? And Joey would be there with me. Guiding me. His heavy, calloused touch gliding down my spine, from my shoulder blades to the narrow gullies of my waist, lower and lower until he was gripping the wide planes of my hips.

Just kissing Joey had almost driven me insane with desire. The memory of his hips between my legs came rushing back, and I actually gasped, promptly dropping my phone onto my face.

Start practicing?