Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 60309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Thank your lucky stars you’re here,” I tell myself in the mirror, drying my hands on a paper towel. “Could be back home and dealing with that shit.”
I don’t want to be there. It’s the main thing that’s running through my head tonight.
I just want to be here.
Gratitude is a funny thing to feel. It’s like being inside a bouncy castle, and with every footfall, I still feel airborne.
I breathe in a big breath.
My hair looks alright. I don’t bother fixing any pieces. I think I’m the hottest motherfucker in the pub, regardless if anyone tells me otherwise.
“‘I’m in the prime of my youth.’” I chuck the balled paper towel in the trash. “‘And I’m only going to be young once.’” The movie quote from Stand by Me always makes me grin, and I kick open the door and mutter the next part, “‘Yeah, but you’re gonna be stupid for the rest of your life.’”
The bathroom is in the back of the pub, and as soon as I exit into this darkened area, I spot a girl twirling in a circle to the melody of “Heroes” by David Bowie. She swings her arms left and right, not paying much attention to anyone else.
My lips begin to lift, and I take a quick glimpse of the rest of the pub. Most of SFO has broken up from the sofas, and really, I don’t feel called to go back there right away.
I slip into Luna’s world. “All alone?”
She keeps dancing. “Not all alone.”
I nod my head to the easy beat. “Who’s with you?” I find myself moving in sync with her, left and right.
She smiles. “You.”
I grin. “Just in time.”
Luna faces me while we shuffle. Left, right. Left, right. “Or we’re both early. Centuries from now other life forms could beam up humans, and we missed our chance.”
“Better early than late,” I tell her. “Being early means you don’t really know what you’re missing.”
She nods. “Being late is full of longing.” She speaks softly, and I smile over at her, wanting to take her hand and twirl her in a circle.
I definitely ate her out in October. I can still feel the warmth of her against my lips.
I definitely got chewed out from her dad before that happened.
I definitely could see myself in boiling water again with him. Hopefully not for sleeping with his daughter. Hopefully I won’t ever put her in a bad position with her father—but it’s hard not to look at Luna and be mesmerized.
I like hearing what she has to say. I like seeing her be herself without second-guessing. I like too much of this interaction, and I don’t see why I have to stop.
Her dad.
But he’s not here.
Luna flings her hands up into the air and waggles them as “Call Me” by Blondie starts playing. I join her and we stalk one another with a foot-jive dance pattern that takes hold, and I’m grinning over at Luna who smiles back like we’re in some sort of race together.
Comms crackle in my ear, but I’m not paying much attention at first. She catches my wrist, and she tries to slip between my legs. But I spin her in a circle. “Call me!” she shouts.
“Call me anytime,” I sing off-key, our eyes latching.
She naturally whirls around, her back sliding against my chest and ass up against my pelvis. Blood runs hot through my veins, and I hold her hips while we shift together to the beat. Sweat is building against my skin. She bumps against my dick, more forceful than sensual, and I thrust against her ass all the same. We’re laughing between singing.
Even though heat ramps inside me the longer our bodies slip and grope, there’s something emotional about touching Luna that supersedes the sexual—I don’t understand it. But I’m not trying to.
I hear Oscar in my ear. “I’m trying to save all the adult diapers for Donnelly.”
No idea what that’s about, but with one hand, I click my mic and laugh over comms. “Appreciation and all that.”
Songs keep changing.
We keep dancing, getting sloppier with our movements and tripping over one another even though she’s sober—I’m sober. Sweat glistens on her cheeks, and adrenaline is igniting my soul. As “Baba O’Riley” by the Who plays, we both sing the lyrics at the top of our lungs.
“‘I get my back into my living,’” I sing and lift her up in a front piggyback. Cupping her ass with my hands, Luna holds onto my shoulders, and the music explodes in the pub—so we sing louder, our eyes locked in the moment. She’s bouncing on my dick.
My pulse thrums against the beat, against the feeling of my hands lifting her whole body, against the way her amber eyes attach to mine, and our grins burst within the lyrics and within her movements, up and down.