We step up on the stage, the colored lights flashing down on us. I never realized how hard it is to see the people down at the tables.

I step forward and motion for one of the guys sitting at the table closest to us to pass me the empty chair beside him. He does, and I place it in the middle of the stage, then guide Demi to sit down.

Giving a thumbs-up to the guy running the show, I grab one mic as the song starts and I approach Demi as I sing the words. I figure I may be the only one all in, but she surprises me and stands up when the girl's part comes on and stands chest to chest with me while I hold the mic near her lips.

Her hands slide down her sides as she lowers to the ground and back up. I grind my crotch into her as she lays her head on my shoulder, singing into the microphone. My dick twitches when she pushes me into the chair and then she bends over, looking at me through her legs as I sing my part. Slowly, her body twists up and down. I walk up behind her, circling my hips as I get near.

She places her index finger in her mouth and bites down on it. When it shifts back to her part, I hold the mic in front of her again while her hands land on my chest, running up and down. All the blood in my body pools between my legs.

Shit, my dick needs to understand the halfway mark. I know we usually do everything full throttle, but he's not getting any satisfaction tonight. And no way do I want to be standing up here on stage in front of everyone sporting wood like I’m some thirteen-year-old kid.

By the time the song is over, I'm so charged up I could probably come with one stroke of my hand. Demi hugs me, and I do the old junior high move, keeping space between our genitals. On the slow pull back, her gorgeous green eyes looking at me with curiosity.

“Yeah.” I back up, handing the microphone to the guy.

“Sorry,” she snickers, covering her mouth, obviously I’ve lost some stealth moves since junior high.

“Whatever.”

We hop off the stage and none of our friends have their arms up to give us a high five. They're all sitting there with wide eyes and their mouths practically hanging open.

“Good job,” Mia says.

“You need to head to the bathroom,” Grady laughs, glancing down at my crotch with a knowing look. Mia slaps him on the stomach. “What? That was fucking hot shit. Next time we're doing that song.”

“Will you actually participate?” Mia rolls her eyes.

“If you're grinding on me like that, hell yeah.” Grady tips his beer and winks at me.

I can't complain, the girl didn't even give me a full lap dance, yet I want to dig out my cash and make dollar bills rain.

“I need a drink.” Without waiting for anyone to respond, I head to the bar. “Double whiskey.” The bartender grabs the bottle while simultaneously palming a glass. “Shit...no... water.” Alcohol would make this situation worse and I need to adhere to my training. Two drink maximum per night.

The bartender is nice enough to unscrew the top of the water bottle, and I drink the cold water down my throat. I crush the plastic bottle and set it on the bar, placing some South Korean won on table.

“Nice dancing, Campbell,” the guy Demi was dating says in his stupid French accent as he leads the girl he brought to a table with his hand on her back.

“What can I say, she knows where to find the good stuff.”

His hand leaves the girl’s back and he twists back around, stepping up to me. I stand in place, not at all intimidated by anyone, much less this skinny prick.

“You're sloppy seconds.” The arrogant prick looks me up and down.

I exaggerate a clutched over belly-holding laugh and then pop back up, straight-faced. “You should really get your facts straight.” I search to make sure Demi is nowhere around and inch forward until my lips are right by his ear. “She’s back for the good stuff.”

Now I know I'm full of shit, but this jackass doesn't. All he knows is she was grinding me up on stage moments ago. And the way he so easily tossed Demi aside when they were dating irritates me.

He shoots me a cocky grin. “You're no better than me. I've heard the rumors.” Funny he says that when he has no idea that at the last Winter Classics, it was well known that Demi and I were messing around.

“You missed out on something good with Demi,” I say.

He glances over my shoulder and I don't have to turn around. I can already feel her there. Reaching my hand back, I find hers and link our fingers, pulling her forward.

Demi remains silent but doesn't pull away from my side. Unlinking our hands, I possessively place my hand on her hip, my thumb rubbing along the open space between her jeans and shirt.

His eyes shoot to the motion and just to be sure he's aware that he fucked over the wrong girl, I place my lips just below her ear, my lips casting small kisses on her soft skin.

Demi being the rock star actress she is, she leans in and she must really be trying to convince this guy that he didn't fracture her heart an hour ago, because she's closing her eyes, reveling in my affection.

“Whatever, Demi. We were never serious,” he mumbles.

“Whatever, Julien. Does it look like I care?” she rasps in a sexy, throaty voice.

My lips travel up the shallow of her throat and I twist her so we're flush against one another. Her head falls between her shoulder blades and I make my way up past her jaw until my lips are millimeters from hers. Frenchie is still standing there—he must be into voyeurism or some shit. Not that I mind having Demi in my arms again. I’d forgotten how her body just kind of fit with mine.

Going for what could be a ball cracking move if she objects, I allow my lips to land on hers. I’m tentative at first, just in case I need to make a quick getaway. But she doesn't pull away. Instead, it's her tongue licking against the seam of my lips. Her breasts push against my chest, and she rises on her tiptoes to get closer.

My tongue seeks hers and once they slide along together, a burst of something erupts in my stomach. I don’t know what the feeling was, but my hand finds its way to the back of her head because the last thing I can handle right now is her stopping this fake kiss.

A small moan escapes her parted lips and I desperately want to know if she's acting or if I actually illicit that sound from her, because damn if I don't want to groan and lay her down on the table, not caring who’s watching us.

Just when I'm about to suggest we head back to the village, she pulls back, covering her mouth and looking to where Julien was moments ago, but the space is empty. She looks around the room, searching, but it seems like he left, which is what we wanted right?

“It worked,” she smiles over at me, rising to her tiptoes and kissing me on the cheek. “Thanks, Dax.”

Frenchie might be gone, but the table of our friends are all staring at us with flabbergasted slack-jawed expressions.

Disappointment rests in the pit of my stomach that Demi’s moan was only to up the ante on our fake kiss, but then her lips move to my ear. “Meet me in the bathroom in five.”

I knew it.

I do a mental fist pump. I'm fucking Dax Campbell, no women on earth could kiss me and not want more.

She lowers herself back down on her heels, watching for my confirmation. I give her a small nod and try to play it off like I could take it or leave it. Make no mistake. I’m taking it.

Turning on her heels, she heads back to our table with our friends where the girls swarm around her, while the guys’ attention is still focused on me.

I hold my hands up in the air like I did nothing wrong, but they shake their heads and share an expression that says they don't buy my innocent act.

I can't blame them, I'm rarely innocent.