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On the dance floor, Wayne’s movements were clumsy and disjointed, resembling a drunk gorilla more than anything else. In stark contrast, Lincoln was all fluidity and control. He started by keeping a respectful distance, but as the music pulsed around us, he gradually closed the gap, his hand finding its way to my hip. The firm squeeze of his grip ignited something in me, a heat that had nothing to do with the dancing. In mere moments, Lincoln was turning me on in a way no one had in a very long time.
Suddenly, Wayne stumbled, losing his balance and nearly toppling over. Lincoln’s reflexes were quick, his hand leaving me to catch Wayne before he could fall.
"Fuck, my ankle. I twisted it!" Wayne cried out, wincing in pain.
"You should go home," Lincoln suggested, his voice steady and commanding.
Wayne turned to me, his face a mix of pain and desperation. "Come on, I’ll take you home."
"Lincoln can take me," I replied, the words spilling out before I could stop them. The thought of spending more time with Lincoln made my heart race, my body reacting in ways I hadn’t expected.
"But I brought you here," Wayne whined, his voice grating on my nerves.
"I can take her home," Lincoln smoothly interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I promise she’ll be in good hands. I won’t let anything happen to her."
The promise in his words sent a thrill through me, my mind already racing ahead to what those hands might feel like on my bare skin. I wanted Lincoln Elliott more than I had during our negotiation, and the visual of what might come next sealed the deal in my mind.
"Let’s go," I said, turning to Wayne with a finality that left no room for further discussion. Wayne looked defeated, his shoulders slumping as he nodded in reluctant agreement.
Lincoln’s hand found its way back to my waist, guiding me away from the dance floor, and as we walked past the crowd, I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. The night was far from over, and I had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot more interesting.
The disdain on Wayne’s face was unmistakable, but there was nothing he could do. He was injured, and I had no intention of going home with him or even offering a consolation kiss on his sweaty cheek. I trailed behind as Lincoln helped Wayne out to his car, then split off to return to the VIP area. A few minutes later, Lincoln was back, sliding into the seat next to me.
"Will he be all right?" I asked, curious about how Wayne had taken his sudden dismissal.
"I think so. He was grumbling about spending money on you and getting nothing back," Lincoln replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.
My mouth dropped open in disbelief. "You’re kidding, right? He insisted on taking me out to dinner."
"I suppose he thought you owed him something. Where did you meet that guy anyway?"
"In my defense, he was in better shape and less obnoxious when we last hung out," I replied, shaking my head.
"So, you never dated?" Lincoln asked, his tone light but probing.
"Oh God, no. He’s not…" I hesitated, searching for the right words.
"Your type?" Lincoln finished for me, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Exactly. We’re friends, but he wanted more. I’m not the dating type."
Lincoln chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "That’s funny, because neither am I."
Before I could fully process that bit of information, the waitress returned, asking if I needed anything else. It suddenly dawned on me that Wayne might have stuck me with the bill for the drinks since he left in such a hurry.
"Is there a check?" I asked.
The waitress tossed her brown hair over her shoulder, her tone bordering on rude as she replied, "Why wouldn’t there be?"
"Add it to my check," Lincoln said, gesturing toward the section where he’d been sitting.
"Yes, sir," she replied, starting to leave.
"And there’s no need for the attitude," Lincoln added, his voice firm.
The waitress visibly shrank back. "I’m sorry, sir."
"I’m not the one you should be apologizing to."
