A man can hope.

We spend the next few minutes shouting to each other over the music. When the current song changes, Demi shrieks in delight. It’s “Despacito,” the Bieber version, and the entire club goes wild.

“Come salsa with me,” she begs, tugging on my arm. “This is my song!”

“Nope,” I say firmly. “I don’t salsa.”

“I do,” Dean announces, holding out his hand.

“You salsa?” She gawks at him before turning to me. “He’s beautiful and he salsas? What on earth am I doing here with you?”

She’s joking, but I still glare at her. “He’s taken.”

“Super taken,” Dean confirms. “But I’m a salsa master thanks to my girl. Allie-Cat and I took lessons.”

Demi takes his hand, and I swallow a sigh as I watch them saunter toward the dance floor.

“She’s cool,” Logan tells me.

“I know. We’re good friends.”

“Just friends?”

I shrug. “She got out of a relationship a month ago.”

“So?”

I twist the cap off my water bottle and take a hasty sip. I’m not sure why I put that out there. Then I shift my gaze to the dance floor and almost choke on my water.

Goddamn Dean. Since when does he salsa dance? And he looks damn good doing it. Dean might’ve skipped out on law school to become a gym teacher, but the man still oozes money. He’s wearing khakis and a crisp white shirt, its top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His blond hair falls onto his forehead as he spins Demi around as if they’re on Dancing with the Stars.

“Check out that footwork,” Garrett marvels.

They’re even drawing stares from the other dancers. Demi’s in leggings, leather boots, and a red tank, but the way her hips are moving, I can totally envision her in a bright sundress and high heels, the ones with straps that wrap around a woman’s ankles. Maybe a flower in her hair. Red lipstick painted on those pouty lips.

Annnnd now I’m acting out my own salsa-themed porno in my head. Which Dean brings to life when he lifts one of her legs and props it on his hip, and they do a sexy little grinding move before he spins her around again. Demi’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright with joy. Dean whispers something in her ear and she starts giggling.

Jealousy constricts my throat. Obviously I’m being ridiculous. There’s always chemistry when two hot people are dancing, it’s inevitable. But the sight of Dean’s hands on Demi’s body makes my blood boil.

“What the hell is a despacito anyway?” I grumble. “Is it like a desperado?”

Hannah bursts out laughing. “It means slowly.”

“Whatever. It’s a shitty song.” I don’t really believe that. If anything, I’m indifferent to the damn track. I just wish it would end already. I promptly glare daggers at the dance floor again.

“Just friends?” Logan asks knowingly.

The sigh I’ve been holding slips out.

“Aw, he has a crush,” teases Hannah.

“Nah,” I lie. “I’m putting sex and dating on the backburner this year. I want to focus on hockey.”

“I get it.” Garrett nods a couple times. “But there’s more to life than hockey, Davenport.” He’s gazing at his girlfriend as he says that. Hannah is his entire world. I have no doubt he’d give up anything for her, even a flourishing career.

“I know there is, but I made myself a promise. You know, to try to grow as a person and all that shit.”

The guys laugh loudly, while Hannah offers an admiring smile. “I actually think that’s commendable,” she says. “We get so caught up in sex and relationships, sometimes it’s good to take some time for yourself.”

“But sex is so good,” Logan protests.

He’s right. Sex is goddamn incredible, and right now Dean and Demi are engaged in a vertical version of it on the dance floor. My stomach twists again.

“You should cut in,” Garrett suggests.

I’m about to maintain that I can’t salsa, when the DJ changes up the music again. A slower, sultry beat reverberates through the club. “Havana” by Camila Cabello. I can work with that.

“I’ll be right back.” I stride forward, leaving my companions in the proverbial rear view mirror.

I can hear them laughing behind me, but I don’t give a shit. I make a beeline for Demi. “Beat it,” I tell Dean.

It’s a joke.

But also not a joke.

And he knows it. Grinning, he slaps my shoulder and goes off to join the others.

Demi stares at me, one eyebrow quirked. “Wow. Was that a show of dominance?”

“Nah.”

“Really? So you banished my dancing partner for no reason? What am I supposed to do now?” She snaps a hand on her hip. We’re surrounded by other dancers, but neither of us moves.

“Well. I guess I’ll just have to do,” I say, extending a hand toward her.

She breaks out in a smile. “Took you long enough.”

I yank her toward me, grabbing hold of her waist. Demi rests one hand on my shoulder, and places the other one at my nape, her fingers curling loosely around my neck as we begin to move to the beat.

Luckily, our lower bodies aren’t touching, so I’m spared the agony of feeling her rubbing up against me. The experience would be too confusing for my dick.

Except great. Now she’s rubbing up against me.

Cue: dick confusion.

I try to ease my hips away from her sexy body, but that earns me a huff of exasperation. “You have to actually dance back, Hunter. You can’t just stand there.”

“I’m dancing back,” I protest.

“Your body is two feet away! Where did you learn to dance? Puritan camp? Why did you even bother cutting in?”

I shrug.

Demi thinks it over for a second. Then she releases a triumphant laugh. “Oh my God, you were jealous! You didn’t like seeing me dancing with Dean!”

Another shrug.

“Ha!” She’s so much shorter than me that she has to tug my head down to bring her lips to my ear. “Admit it,” she whispers.

My lips travel toward her ear. “Fine,” I whisper back, and I’m gratified to feel a shiver run down her body. “Maybe a little jealous. But it wasn’t real jealousy.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It was body jealousy.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes it is. Bodies get jealous when they see other bodies close together.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

I kind of need to, to preserve my own sanity. I can’t let myself develop feelings for Demi. I mean, obviously, I like her. She’s amazing and we have fun together. As friends.

I don’t want our friendship to be ruined.

But Demi seems hell-bent on setting it on fire.

“I have a secret,” she teases, gesturing for me to lower my head again.

“Yeah?” My voice comes out stupidly husky.

Her breath tickles my earlobe. “I’m about to do something you’re not going to like.”

Like a fool I ask, “What’s that?”

And rather than answer, Demi angles her head and slants her mouth over mine.