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“No, thank you. I’d love to dance,” I replied, eager to get out of this restaurant and into the pulsating energy of the club.
“Don’t worry, you will. Surge has some great DJs,” he assured me, as if that would put me at ease.
“Can’t wait,” I said, my voice laced with impatience.
Tonight wasn’t about Wayne. It was about the music, the movement, and the freedom that came with it.
The bass from Surge was already vibrating through my chest before we even made it through the door. The hulking doorman, a man with the build of a linebacker, spoke into his headset, and moments later, we were whisked inside and led to the VIP section. A bridal party was seated next to us, their laughter and high spirits contagious. I couldn’t help but think of Morgan—her own bridal shower was just a few weeks away. The thought made me smile.
Before I could even settle into my seat, Wayne grabbed my hand and practically dragged me downstairs to the dance floor. He was determined, I’ll give him that. He maneuvered us into the middle of the crowd, carving out a small space where we could dance—or rather, where he could show off his latest moves.
As he shrugged off his jacket, I noticed just how much weight he had gained since we last saw each other. His belly bulged over the waistband of his slacks, and his white shirt strained uncomfortably at the collar. I couldn’t help but wonder how he was even breathing as he tried to gyrate his body in time with the music.
Swallowing my pride, I tried to dance along with him, but the moment he pulled me close, pressing his sweaty body against mine, I felt a wave of revulsion. I wriggled out of his grasp, moving my arms in a way that made it look like part of the dance, all while keeping him at a distance. He frowned but kept moving, his short, lifeless brown hair already damp with sweat.
The lights flashed in sync with the pounding music, casting everything in brief, colored bursts. When they flickered clear for a moment, my heart skipped a beat. There, in the VIP section, was the man from the gym—the one who had ogled me so blatantly. He was sitting next to a younger version of himself, casually sipping a drink, his arms slung over the back of the banquette with an ease that spoke of complete confidence.
I pretended not to notice him, watching from the corner of my eye as he lounged in his seat, his gaze scanning the dance floor. Despite my irritation at his objectifying stare at the gym, I couldn’t deny that I was intrigued. Especially now, considering my current situation with Wayne, who was by now completely soaked with sweat, his damp skin brushing against mine more times than I could count.
The song finally ended, and I seized the opportunity to escape. “Let’s go for a drink!” I shouted over the music.
“Yeah?” Wayne yelled back, his face lighting up with relief.
I nodded, grabbing his sweaty hand and cringing inwardly as I led him off the dance floor. I could feel the blond man’s eyes on me as we reentered the VIP section. He was sitting on the other side of the bridal party, casually observing the scene with a detached amusement that only heightened my curiosity.
The women from the bridal party were in full celebration mode, passing around a bottle of Dom Perignon. As I watched them, a fleeting thought crossed my mind—one I hadn’t allowed myself to consider in years. Despite my aversion to the idea of tying myself to any man, I couldn’t help but wonder if marriage was something I’d ever want. But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, I pushed it aside, reminded of the damage left by my parents’ divorce.
"What do you want to drink?" Wayne asked, his voice still tinged with the desperation that had clung to him all night.
"I have showings tomorrow," I said, keeping my tone casual. "So, I'll stick to sparkling water with lemon."
He scowled, clearly disappointed. "Water? I was gonna get us a bottle of champagne."
"For what purpose?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.
"To celebrate our reunion. Have a glass with me."
Before I could decline, Wayne waved over the waitress and ordered the champagne. I managed to catch her eye just in time to add my water to the order.
"One glass," he whined, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopping the sweat from his face. In the dim light, I noticed how flushed his cheeks had become.
"Are you okay?" I asked, masking my concern with mild disinterest.
"I should splash some water on my face. It's hot in here. Will you be alright by yourself?"
I let out a short laugh. "That's a joke, right?"
"Just asking," he muttered, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.
"Go on," I said, waving him off.
Wayne awkwardly rose from his seat, hitching up his pants and fishing his wallet from his inner jacket pocket. He slipped it into his pants pocket as he walked away, a gesture that made my last shred of patience with him vanish. As if I’d steal his money while he was in the bathroom.
The waitress returned with our drinks, setting the champagne down with a flourish. I was tempted to pour myself a glass just to take the edge off, but I needed a clear head tonight. I sipped my water instead, trying to focus on anything but Wayne’s impending return.
That’s when I saw him—the man from the gym. He moved with the kind of grace that only comes from confidence, and as if on cue, he stopped right in front of me during a lull in the music.
"Hi, would you like to dance?" His voice was smooth, a perfect match for his demeanor.
