“If I had to name one, Dave Chappelle.”
I rack my brain. “The comedian?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s fucking brilliant and real. He uses his platform in an incredible way, and his genius shines through. He says the shit many are too afraid to say and then tosses in some insight here and there that will stun you, make you think. He walked away from fifty million dollars, refusing to sell his soul in a way so many others would.”
“That’s so far from any answer I thought you would give.”
“Yeah, well, he’s flawed too, and he makes no apologies about it.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming message from Christy and Sean nods toward it. “Look up some of his stand-up on your little computer when you get home.”
“Maybe I will.”
“But do yourself a favor, never research your heroes.”
“Why?”
He tips his beer. “Because you’ll find out they’re human.”
He takes my phone away when I lift it to check the message.
“New rule. No phones with me.”
“What?” I jerk my head back. “Not ever?”
“Never. Not in my car, not in my house, not in the garage. When you’re with me, you leave your phone at home.”
“You’re serious?”
“It’s all I ask. But I am seriously asking you for this.” His tone is severe, leaving little room for negotiation.
“Why?”
“A few reasons, one of them being this is my time. I’m choosing to spend it with you, and I want the same from you.”
“It sounds controlling to me.”
He leans in. “Hand to the Messiah, I promise you, baby, the last thing I want to do is control you.”
“Then what’s with the rule?”
“If I asked you to please trust me enough and that an explanation will come later, would you?”
Jade eyes prompt mine. He’s serious, so much so that I can’t look away.
“Why can’t I get an explanation now?”
“We aren’t there yet.”
“You’re talking in riddles again.”
“I know, but it’s a dealbreaker for me.”
I gape at him. Never in our time together has he taken such an air of authority. It irks me to no end, but is it really too much to ask?
“It’s a slippery slope. If I give you this, the explanation damn well better be worth it.”
“It will be.”
“Okay. Fine, for now, no phone.”
“Good,” he leans in. “Two words to describe you…” he chucks the underside of my chin, “beautiful and buzzing.”
I give him a begrudging grin. “Nah, not yet.”
“Sure.” He puts his beer down and grips my hand, pulling me from my chair just as “So What’Cha Want” by the Beastie Boys starts to play. “Good one.”
“There are perks to being raised by Generation X,” I follow his lead. My eyes drink him in.
“What’s that?”
“The music, of course.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“I learned how to dance to this song. But I didn’t think this would be your thing.”
“What do you know about my thing?” He taunts me, pulling me onto the sad patch of a dance space.
“I know a thing or two about your thing, baby,” I quip just as he starts swaying his hips, his upper body relaxed. He’s good, better than good. Stunned by the sight of him moving with such ease, I hesitate, just watching until he pulls me closer to him, urging me with the gentle thrust of his hips. Cheeks heating, I size up the bar to make sure no one’s watching. There are only a few others in the pub that time forgot, and it’s apparent none of them give a shit. And with the warm buzz flowing through me, I decide I don’t either. I follow Sean’s lead and start rocking my hips because this girl has a little rhythm. Sean’s eyes light up with delighted surprise as we dance through the song, and the next, and the next.
I drink another Coke splashed whiskey.
We dance.
I grip his T-shirt as he hitches my leg on his hip, slowly hiking my shorts up my thigh.
We grind.
He leisurely sips droplets of sweat from my neck and blows the rest dry with his lush lips.
We dance.
Shamelessly wrapped around him, I lick the divot in his throat.
We grind.
He takes a shot of tequila before licking the salt from my wrist, never once taking his eyes off mine.