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5
Day Five
Jackson and I spent the morning lounging around by one of the pools before he encouraged me to add a night of dancing to the agenda. We agreed to meet outside the club for an all-white affair, so I exit my room dressed appropriately in a backless wide-leg jumpsuit and nude pointy-toe pumps. When I arrive, he’s there waiting with a few other people, some appearing to be couples, some alone. I even think I see Braden and Melissa among the group.
He meets me a few feet from the entrance, dressed devilishly handsome in a white button-up with rolled sleeves and an open collar that teases a peek of more ink. Just like the other night, his loose-fitting, straight-leg jeans show off those bowed legs I’ve come to admire.
“You look amazing!” He greets me with a hug and a kiss on the lips.
“You’re pretty snazzy yourself.”
“Oh, this old thing?” he says playfully, and I laugh. “Come on, the gang’s waiting.”
We enter and descend a short flight of stairs into a large room filled with blaring music and dancing bodies. Along the walls are VIP-style booths seating some for large groups and others for more intimate settings. They’re like mini cubicles with dark curtains pinned at each side of the threshold and enough leg room that we probably won’t need to go out on the dance floor. One of the guys with our bunch spots an empty section and leads the way. There’re two bars situated side by side in the center of one wall overseeing the sunken dancehall. I’m baffled at the size of location—from outside, you wouldn’t think this much space was available.
Strobe lights pave the way through the crowd, and fog surrounds the dance area, cascading around bodies, only adding to the atmosphere. Once we reach our table for the evening, I make my rounds, introducing myself to the few new faces and greeting those I’ve met previously.
“Hey, Sabrina. Hola, mami, te ves hermosa!” Melissa says with a hug and kiss to both cheeks.
My Spanish isn’t very good, but I do know a compliment when I hear one—no matter the language.
“Gracias! So do you.” I return her gesture and compliment her on the way her bodycon dress fits her curves.
I didn’t know Melissa prior to this trip and Braden’s introduction. But over the last several days, I’ve learned that the two of them are actually acquaintances with Jackson. In hanging around him these last couple of nights, it was pretty much inevitable for Melissa and me to bond.
Several moments pass, and we’re all settling into a groove. Drinks are flowing, thanks to the wait staff serving our section, and laughs are being shared while we rock to the beat. I’m deep in conversation when someone yells across the room. I look up. Braden stands and walks to the entrance of our nook.
“What’s up, man?” he says to D'Andre as they clasp their palms together then pull close, bumping at the shoulders and patting one another on the back. “You and your lady should join us.” He turns to Aliza and smiles.
“Sure. Thanks, man.”
I watch their interaction, coaching myself to not think anything of it. We’re all out for a fun night, and bad vibes are not welcome. If I start to think negative things, then I get negative things. D'Andre scans the room, his sights meeting Jackson and me. He squares his shoulders, then whispers to Aliza and points to two empty seats in the corner. She leads them over, smiling and introducing herself along the way. I don’t think she realizes we’re here, otherwise she probably would have convinced the person sitting beside Jackson to switch seats.
I sense Jackson’s mood shift, and he sits up straight, his body riddled with tension. He downs his drink, glaring at D'Andre over its brim. I lean towards him, glancing at him inquisitively. By now, Aliza has spotted us and calls out to me. She’s a friendly woman. It sucks that I can’t comfortably befriend her. In my peripheral, I notice her standing to swing my way. When she’s close, I break my concentration and get up to hug her. While we embrace one another, Braden does his due diligence and introduces the couple to the group.
Aliza returns to her seat, and I redirect my attention to my date. His eyes are still trained on D'Andre, who has his gaze fixed on us. It’s as if the two of them are waiting for something to jump off.
“Hey,” I whisper. “Look at me.”
He grips my knee with his left hand and passes me a smile so weak he might as well have just stared. One of those don’t fuck with me smiles. I choose not to press the matter. So long as everyone can remain on their best behavior, things should pan out. To be certain of this, I do my best to avoid any awkward moments or glances in D'Andre and Aliza’s direction. After a bit, the mood relaxes as people are mingling again.
Someone moves to the right of me, drawing my focus towards the forbidden side of the booth. I catch a glimpse of D'Andre, who’s watching me closely. He hasn’t said much since the two of them arrived, but his body language and his perturbed expression says a lot. Jackson notices, too, but thankfully he doesn’t outwardly confront the situation. Not that his response is any better. With territorial glares targeted at D'Andre, he scoots closer, placing his ankle behind my outstretched calf and constantly rubs his hand up and down my right thigh.
No one else seems to catch on to the thick tension between them, and for that I am grateful. But I’d like to enjoy myself—no pissing matches allowed. Without a word to either, I take Jackson by the wrist, dragging him down the one step leading out of our section and then down the three to the dance floor. He follows along without hesitation, falling right in line with the music. Our bodies rock to the thump of the speakers, and soon, all that unwanted energy fades away.
The DJ plays C-Breezy’s Hope You Do, this track turning Jackson into a whole new person. The tempo plays, and he pulls me close, singing the lyrics in my ear. “Girl, I’m tryna fuck with ya. Girl, don’t take no pictures.”
I join him in the song, seductively pressing my body into his, not surprised at all by how well he keeps up with the sway of my hips. I turn so my back is to him, and he grabs my waist, never breaking our rhythm. We grind on each other, completely drowning out the crowd, focusing only on the way our bodies connect in this moment. A thumb trails the nape of my neck as he leans into me, gyrating against the softness of my ass. My senses light up at the swirl of our hips and every scrape of his fingers along my back. By the firm hold he has on my waist, I sense he’s just as intrigued as I. It doesn’t help that all of the DJ’s selections seem to be filled with sex-driven lyrics, only increasing the vibe flowing through us. We dance to a few more tunes then head back to the group. Everyone seems to be deep in thought, while all I want is to get back to my seat and catch my breath.
“Brina, I’m going to get another round. Want me to bring you back one?” Jackson asks, and I nod. “Anyone else want me to put in an order to be sent back over?” After receiving a few nos and a couple more yeses, he leaves for the bar.
“Brina?” Braden says mockingly. “You’re really into this guy. I’ve never known you to let anyone call you anything other than Sabrina. Except maybe D'Andre.”
I try not to react to Braden’s statement or look in Aliza’s direction. Which isn’t easy, considering she is sitting directly across from me. D'Andre stands, takes one final swig to empty his glass, and exits the booth. I don’t know what Aliza knows about mine and D'Andre’s relationship, but I’m sure his sudden departure does nothing to settle any negative thoughts.
“Oh hush! You’re just pissed I never let you call me Brina,” I joke, trying my best to play it cool.
“Well, he’s damn hot, so that probably has a lot to do with it,” Melissa jokes, bringing a chuckle out of me and a few other women.
