I looked at Alana when she turned around, her face already flushed with panic. Before she even got the chance to say anything, my mouth opened. “No fucking way.”
“It’s just a dare,” Bennett drawled, chuckling. He leaned back on his chair, adjusting his position as he slightly widened his legs. “Just a little dance. Nothing scandalous. Or are youthatinsecure in your relationship?”
Fuck, I hated him.
“This has nothing to do with insecurity, Bennett. You’re just being a fucking moron. How can you, in good conscience, dare a woman to give you a lap dance? Are you that desperate?” I spoke calmly, trying to suppress the anger that was poisoning every inch of my body.
Austin’s lips parted for merely a second before he caught himself. I could tell he was trying to get that teasing and gleaming spark of amusement back into his stupid eyes, but he failed. “It’s just a dare,” he repeated. “Lighten up and have some fun.”
“Leave it to you to make a fool of yourself in front of so many people. Wait, you do that when you’re on the field as well, so you’re probably used to it, right?”
His jaw tensed. “What does football have to do with playing truth or dare?”
“Nothing per se. You, however, and your inability to be decent are quite the same in both situations.” Just to fuck with him, I chose to over-explain. “You know, because you suck? You’re a shitty player, and you don’t know when to draw the line, even in a party game. And let’s not forget to mention the fact that you have todarewomen to dance for you. Sank pretty low there, wouldn’t you agree?”
Alana looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but I just couldn’t let Bennett win this. It was rude of him to dare my girlfriend to givehima lap dance. Anyone with a brain would’ve known that it was disrespectful. Had he dared her to givemea lap dance, I could’ve let it slide. It would’ve been in all fun—not with Bennett, but that was beside the point.
I chuckled low in my chest, and everyone must’ve heard it, because the tension in the room turned sharp.
“But you know what, Bennett?” I said, brushing a hand slowly up Alana’s back, resting it at the base of her neck. “If you’re that desperate to see a lap dance…” I leaned into the couch with a wicked grin. “I’ll show you one.”
That made heads turn.
Austin blinked. “What?”
“Not from her,” I said. “From me.”
I slid Alana off my lap just enough to move her beside me, still close, her thigh brushing mine. Then I stood up, slow and smooth like I had all the time in the world. Every pair of eyes locked on me. I swore someone muted the damn music just to hear what would happen next.
Then I turned back toward her.
Alana stared up at me like I’d lost my mind.
She wasn’t wrong. But I gave her a look that said,Trust me.
She did. She always did.
I straddled her lap, my knees braced on either side of her thighs on the deep sofa cushion, hovering just slightly, one hand braced on the backrest behind her. Her breath caught.
Then I moved.
I slowly rolled my hips, controlled and precise, like I knew exactly what I was doing—and maybe I didn’t, but I was confident enough that no one would dare say otherwise. My body dipped low, chest brushing hers, my mouth hovering right beside her ear.
“Just play along,” I whispered. “You’re the only one I want watching.”
I sat up again, hips still circling. My shirt rode up an inch, exposing the curve of my stomach. A few gasps echoed through the room.
I moved with rhythm, every shift of my hips a calculated grind, brushing against her in all the right places. My hands dragged down my chest slowly, then slid to rest on the tops of my own thighs as I rolled forward again—close enough to feel her breath catch against my mouth. Her hands clutched my shirt by my waist now, holding on like she wasn’t sure whether to stop me or never let me go.
Whistles broke out. Laughter. A few cheers.
Someone yelled, “Oh my God,” like they were scandalized, confused, and amused all at once.
I dipped my body lower, chest brushing hers again, this time letting my fingers trail along her sides before I pulled back with a cocky smirk. Her hands—those sweet, trembling hands—still holding onto me for dear life.
She wasn’t pretending.
Not anymore.