You know. Boyfriend stuff.
Seth grabs my hand and yanks me toward him. “C’mon, Marks. You gotta dance with me. It’s tradition.”
I have no choice but to follow him.
He catches me around the waist and brings me in closer.
“It’s gonna be me,” he bellows into my ear.
CHAPTER 6 Seth
I’m finally, finally over it.
After fifteen years of harboring low-grade resentment toward Molly Marks, I am now at peace. I feel light as a feather, if a little absurd for harboring a grudge for so long. But I forgive myself for that. I was holding space for pain.
After all, Molly was my first real love and she apologized, however badly, and I will likely never see her again after tonight, and I want to dance with her for old times’ sake. To her favorite song.
Okay, maybe I want to torture her just a little.
The thing with chronically grumpy people is that sometimes they need to be tortured. Counterintuitively, it cheers them up.
Also, I’ve had a lot of Flamingos and I am buzzing with caffeine.
“This is cruel,” Molly yells in my ear.
“Nope,” I counter. “This is fun.”
I move her hips near mine—innocently enough distancewise, but with a rhythmic approach favored by horny teenagers at high school dances.
Mostly to troll her but also because, well. She’s hot as fuck.
“Come on kid, put your hips into it!” I yell, shaking her shoulders into a shimmy.
“Gross,” she yells back. But she obeys my command.
We are flesh against flesh.
“Do it for Justin,” I whisper into her ear, putting my hand at the small of her back and spinning us around.
“Justin who?”
“Timberlake, baby.”
She giggles, and I know I have won.
She’s still the same as she was in high school. And I always intuitively got her in high school. We had instant chemistry—not just sexually but the intrinsic friendship kind, where you fall into conversation effortlessly and end up talking for hours.
Despite my long string of girlfriends, I haven’t had a connection like that with anyone in a long time.
In a way, I still miss her. My Molls. My Miss Molly. My Marky Marks.
“Molls,” I say, pulling her in a little closer.
“Yag?” (She might have said “yeah” but the NSYNC is very loud.)
“I’m sorry if I was intense earlier. I hope I didn’t ruin the night for you.”
She shakes her head. “I deserved it,” she shouts.
I don’t deny this.
“It’s nice to see you,” I shout back.
“It is, isn’t it?” she mouths. I cannot hear her. I do not care.
Now that we’ve cleared the air, I want to dance.
I sing the bridge to Molly passionately while she leans away, laughing. I spin her around a couple of times, asynchronously with the music—just for fun.
By the end of the song, she’s singing too. We’re looking into each other’s eyes, and our hips are now … dare I say it?… grinding.
It is fun and hot and when “Shake Ya Ass” comes on next she doesn’t even attempt to get away. Instead, she commences booty dancing with me.
Is this happening? Is she rubbing her ass against my crotch and tossing her extremely long erotic hair in my fucking face?
She is, Your Honor. She is!
When the song ends we’re winded, so I put my arm around her shoulders and lead her off the dance floor. “Let’s get a drink,” I say. “It’s been at least twenty minutes since my last Flamingo.”
