Mount Me and Skylar go out that Friday. I refrained from leaving my room, lying and saying I wasn’t feeling good. I booted up my laptop one handed and almost bought a ticket home to Park City. It seems like it might be a better option than putting myself through this crap. Maybe some distance wouldn’t make it feel like someone is prying my fingernails off one by one.

She could have her happy white picket fence and I could live my own life. We could remain friends via phone calls and Skype sessions. I’d endure the wedding, the children’s birthday parties all in moderation. Maybe after she became a casualty of the sixty percent divorce rate, I could move in with her and help her care for her kids. Perfect scenario—a little demented and selfish on my part, but she’d still be in my life and I’d be with her in a manner of speaking.

A knock on my bedroom door just after eleven tells me her date didn’t go as well as she was hoping when she left.

“Come in.”

She peeks her head in just like she did on her last date, like she’s afraid of what she might encounter.

Did she think I’d be beating off? Hell, I wanted to, especially after I booted up my laptop. Turns out I’m not ambidextrous. My left hand just can’t get the motion right. Which explains even more why being around Skylar lately feels like a form of sexual torture—one where the relief never actually comes. Literally and figuratively.

She slides in next to me in bed, her eyes shifting from my bare chest to her legs, crossing her ankles.

“You’re home early. Does that mean no cuffing?”

She giggles, though it sounds forced. “Turns out police officers can be kind of bossy.”

“Who would have thought?” I deadpan.

She knocks her shoulder into mine, leaning her head there after, her dark hair falling over my bare skin. It tickles a bit and it reminds me of what her fingertips might feel like brushing across my chest.

“He ordered for me,” she says.

I clench my jaw and widen my eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, he was a hottie, too.”

She slaps my stomach and the only reason I’m joking around is because her date went badly. If she’d come in here tomorrow morning dressed in what she wore tonight, I’d be clenching my fists instead of laughing.

“He was good looking. Oh.” She inches back, resting her back on the headboard. “Turns out not everyone is impressed by what we do. He asked me why I would ever want to twirl up in the air and risk injury.”

“Really? Usually people think we’re badass.”

She giggles, the true, real kind of laugh I’m used to. “I know, right? I guess Officer Stick Up His Ass likes control.”

“Not surprising since he’s sworn to uphold the law and all.”

“I guess I was kind of blind on that one, huh?”

“Maybe, since he got your number and still gave you a ticket for the accident.” I quirk an eyebrow and she shrugs, agreeing with me.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, changing the subject. Man, am I ever glad she never dated seriously in Park City. It’s mentally exhausting. She’s O for two right now.

“Better.” Truth is, I never felt bad.

She bites her lip and stares over at me. Her signature tell, letting me know that she wants to ask me something she doesn’t think I’ll agree to.

“What?”

“It’s still early and I haven’t showed you any of the clubs in Chicago. What do you say?”

“I say, I have a broken arm and I’m in my pajamas.” I raise my sling up a bit away from my body.

She tugs at my arm. “Come on. I’ll protect your arm. I’m all dressed up and I want to make the best of what turned out to be a dud of a night.”

Standing up now, I realize that her dress is more revealing than when she went out with Tad.

How can I really say no to her when she’s looking at me like that?

“Fine, let me get dressed,” I mumble.

She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Thanks. I’ll go call us an Uber and who knows, maybe Chels will want to join us.”

Gee, wouldn’t that be great. I ask the big man upstairs for a small favor hoping that Chelsea has a date.

---

Chelsea did not have a date.

“Awesome.” Chelsea peeks her head out from inside the club over the bouncer who could probably knock me out with one swing. I’m aware at how pussy that sounds, but obviously, in Chicago, they make the guys big. “They’re with me, Adrian.” She pats his arm.

He smiles down at her. Yeah, he’s being this polite because he wants in her pants. Not that I give a shit as long as I’m not waiting in the line wrapping around the corner.

“Thanks.” Skylar smiles up at the bouncer.

“She competed in the Winter Classics.” Chelsea points to Sky and the bouncer smiles down at her again with those lovesick eyes. “And this is her friend Beckett.” The guy gives me the signature guy-to-guy nod.

We head into the club and its dark with an array of strobe lights flickering down across the bodies on the dance floor. I tightened my sling on the Uber ride, so it was closer to my chest. I’m sure I’ve gone against doctor orders, but if I had to sit in that house one more minute and stare at the Leave It to Beaver childhood home I’d go crazy.

I love the Walshes, in my eyes, they’re the perfect family. And maybe it’s the fact Skylar is thinking about staying here, or that her womb has some sudden urgency to want to hold a baby and her left ring finger feels too light without a diamond ring. All of that shit is suffocating me. Now that we’re at a club, this is where I can let all that go.

“Come on.” Chelsea waves us through the wall to wall people. Skylar’s gaze shoots to me over her shoulder. I follow, reluctantly though since I’d much rather have it be just me and Skylar here.

We stop in front of a table full of chicks. Great.

“This is my cousin, Skylar and her friend, Beckett.” We stand on the outside of the circular booth, three other girls staring up at us. The blonde in the middle blatantly checks me out.

Chelsea grabs the waitress, ordering us a round of shots. Skylar’s smile is beaming as bright as the spotlights on the dance floor. The blond is imagining eating me with a fucking spoon. Chelsea’s busy chatting with everyone that walks by and the way the blonde woman is looking at me like she’s imagining eating me up with a spoon is making me uncomfortable.

“Let’s dance,” I whisper in Skylar’s ear.

She nods, telling Chelsea that we’ll be back. Chelsea nods, looking past Skylar and giving me that whole ‘I’m watching you signal’ with her fingers pointing to her eyes and then to me.

What the fuck ever.

I lead Skylar out to the dance floor, letting the people swallow us up so we’re away from Chelsea’s prying eyes. The base thumping through the speakers has the dance floor practically shaking.

We’ve danced plenty in clubs. We’re no strangers to each other’s bodies, so when I place my thigh between her legs I don’t expect much to happen. I definitely didn’t expect my dick to go half chub, or have Skylar bridge the distance so we would be chest-to-chest if it weren’t for this damn sling. We usually do our pretend dirty dancing that makes us laugh, rarely taking ourselves seriously on the dance floor. Neither one of us about to win any contests.

I can’t say if it’s the song, or warm bodies swarmed around us, but this time we’re not laughing. A light sheen of sweat covers our bodies as we grind together. Skylar’s eyes are fixed on mine and I can’t look away. My hand slides up her side, her body molding closer to me.

She’s warm and soft in my arms, the smell of her perfume intoxicating me. I turn her in my arms so that her back is to my chest and though nothing feels more natural than us on the outside of the friend zone, I know we’re playing with fire. Have we both been fighting this thing growing between us so hard that after only one song, my dick is grinding into her ass?

Her body tenses, her back stiffening as my lips hover on top of her shoulder. Just one taste my internal demon tells me. See if she’s as sweet as you imagine. He continues to taunt me.

The last thing I want is her to pull away, so I lay my hand on her flat stomach and she wraps her hand over mine as though she’s saying we’re on the same page.

Her chest rises and falls and not because of the strenuous dance moves we’re doing. It’s happening. The inevitable crossover from friends to lovers and I came unprepared because my body’s humming yes, yes when my mind should be overriding it. Tonight, I don’t want to think about reason or think about the consequences of our actions. I just want one swipe of my tongue along her shoulder. One taste of her lips.

My mouth is millimeters away from her skin, my fingers brushing the stray hairs away. As if the devil is punishing me for taking too long, someone runs into my back and I lose my footing, unable to hold onto Skylar with only one arm. She falls to the ground, her knee catching the stage from the DJ’s area.

I look behind me to see if I can catch the fucker who bumped us, but either their long gone or smart enough to act like nothing is amiss. Seconds later, I hold my hand out to her, not missing the sight of blood trickling down her leg.

“Come on.”

She takes my hand and I get her back to the booth.

“What did you do?” Chelsea says, dipping a napkin in a water glass and placing it on her cousin’s leg.

Skylar tosses back the shot sitting on the table. “I think I’m ready to go home.”

Chelsea gives me a look like this is my fault.

“Let’s go. I’ll get a taxi home,” I snip, both annoyed and grateful for the interruption.

Skylar stands, giving Chelsea a hug goodbye and then I guide her out of the building.

I can’t help but think that fate is calling the shots now. Sometimes we all need saving from ourselves.