3. Sam

Afew hours later, Tilly and I are back in our apartment above the bar, the sound of clinking drinks and laughter floating up through our open window. Tilly has punk rock blasting from our small speaker, parading around half-naked, holding up dresses in front of the mirror for inspection.

I'm lounging on the couch in our living room, book in hand, but I'm not really reading. Its too hard when I'm more captivated by her than the pages. "Oh, that one," I suggest when she slips into a bright-colored dress that drapes perfectly over her sun-kissed shoulders.

"Really? It's so tame," she giggles, already on the hunt for sandals.

I place my book down. "Maybe tame is what you need tonight."

Tilly's digging through our shared shoe pile near the front door like she's hunting for treasure. Knowing our collection, it's more likely she'll find a lost civilization than whatever else she's looking for. "Why do you think I'm dragging Tommy along? I never get hit on with him as my wingman. Tonight's about you, Sam."

I smile at her reasoning. To the outside eye, bringing Tommy might seem strategic, a way to ward off unwanted attention. But I know better; it's just as much about her chance to flirt with him. I keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to risk altering our plans. Tilly's already slipping into white flip-flops. "What're you wearing?"

Glancing down at my usual shorts and tank combo, I half-joke, "This?"

But Tilly's swoops in faster than a redneck for a blue light special, yanking me off the couch. "No way, Sam. Dive into my closet, you nun."

I can't suppress my laughter as I flick through her collection of daring outfits. Most of Tilly's dresses are a far cry from my comfort zone, but her excitement is infectious. It's been forever since we went out on the town together.

I balk when she hands me a choice—tight, short, and black. "I'll be way over dressed!"

Tilly's already tugging at my top, adamant. My friend might be small, but she is fierce when she wants to be. I shove her back, trying to keep her from pulling my clothes off. When she pushes me over, we fall to the ground, but we're both laughing so hard we're nearly crying.

Tilly holds my hands away from my stomach. "You will wear this and have a good time," she demands as I giggle along. I'm about to argue back when suddenly there's a knock.

"Come in!" Tilly calls, still wrestling with me.

Tommy walks in, rocking casual khaki shorts and a snug tee that clings to his muscles. Catching us in our playful mess, he turns beet red. "Whoa, didn't realize it was this kind of party," he jokes, making a show of removing his shoes.

Tilly springs to her feet, smoothing her dress. "Don't be gross. Tell Sam she'll look killer in this," she insists, thrusting the dress at me.

Tommy, with a glance, says, "Is she trying to get laid? Cause that's how you get laid."

With a laugh, Tilly flings the dress my way. I eye it warily from where I'm propped up against the couch. "I'm trying to have fun without being assaulted."

Tommy waves his hand. "We won't let anyone bug you, Sammy. Wear what you want."

As I take a second look, Tilly moves to our makeshift kitchenette, fetching a bottle of pricey tequila. She returns, glasses in hand, and pours three shots like she's behind the bar instead of in our living room.

"To the nun," she toasts, a smirk directed my way. Tommy and she down their shots, his gaze lingering on her.

With a resigned sigh, I follow suit, the tequila burning all the way down. Standing, I start to change right there. Tommy, ever the gentleman, spins around as I slip into the dress. Catching my reflection, I'm forced to admit—I look damn good. The dress flatters my athletic build in ways I hadn't expected, proving that maybe, just maybe, I can pull off sexy after all.

Surfing keeps me fit, shaping a body that I love, even if it's more sporty than sultry. But tonight, looking at myself in the mirror, I feel a surge of confidence. Right now, I'm not just Sam the surfer; I'm Sam the sexy, ready to take on whatever the night throws our way.

Tommy spins back around, eyes wide. "Damn, Sam!"

But I'm fidgeting with the hem of the dress on my thigh, trying to tug it down a bit. "Really? It's not too much?" I ask, hoping I'm not overdoing it.

He gives me a once-over. "Not at all. You look like you're about to conquer a million-dollar deal or something."

Tilly steps in, fixing the neckline of the dress, even adjusting my chest a bit to her liking. "I agree. It's the perfect mix of daring and professional. Let's go before she decides to bail on us."

Tommy leads the way, holding the door open while Tilly nudges me forward. I relent, stepping out into the night behind them.

Outside the surf shack, Tommy waves down a cab. He has a car, but dealing with parking at the clubs is always a hassle, and none of us wants to be the designated driver tonight—definitely not me.

The ride feels longer than usual. Tilly has a thing about hitting the tourist spots; it keeps us away from the same local faces we see every weekend. Ron's Surf Shack and Bar might be popular along the beach, but it's nice to blend in with the tourists for a change, especially since Tommy can sometimes attract unwanted attention from his surf groupies back home. Tourists don't usually recognize him—surfing's fame doesn't quite match up to the major league sports.

As we step out of the cab in front of the club, my dress rides up my thighs again. I'm tugging at it self-consciously while the pulsating bass and infectious music lure us inside. Tommy generously covers the entry fee for all three of us, and we make our way in.

"You keep that up, and people will think we're a throuple," Tilly shouts over the music, teasing.

Tommy puts on a confused act. "We aren't? Woah, the only reason I agreed to come out is because I thought we'd all end up in bed together."

Instead of shoving him away, like I would, Tilly just laughs, linking arms with him to steer us through the crowd. "Not tonight, cowboy. We've got other plans," she says, throwing a glance my way. Despite the chaos of earlier, the laughter and dancing here start to peel away the day's tension. Though I don't want to admit it, Tilly was right. It's been far too long since I've enjoyed a night out.

"I'm gonna grab us some drinks," I yell to my friends. Both give me a quick nod, and I head for the long, crowded bar. It's hot inside, even though they probably have the air conditioning blaring. I'm glad I'm not wearing much and that it's a dark color. Otherwise, everyone might be privy to how much I'm already sweating. A nice cool drink will certainly help.

"Three Dos Eqquis!" I call out, catching the bartender's attention immediately.

"Hey, Sammy!" Claire, an old friend behind the bar, greets me enthusiastically. I'm fishing for cash in my purse when she waves off the money. "Just owe me!" she insists. Smiling, I nod. The next time Claire is at our bar, she'll expect free drinks, but the trade is worth it.

While I sip one of the beers, I feel the music beat through me. The familiarity, the noise, the smells—it all wraps around me like a warm embrace, making the night feel like it could hold something special. For a moment, all the worries about family and secrets fade into the background, replaced by the promise of a night out with my closest friends.

I return to Tilly and Tommy, who are already lost in the rhythm on the dance floor. Tommy's hands rest comfortably on Tilly's hips, moving in sync with her as she presses back against him. I hand them their beers, Tilly taking a quick sip without missing a beat, and Tommy taking a generous gulp without letting his eyes leave Tilly's body.

As Tommy's hands roam Tilly's hips in tune with the music, he barely moves his feet. It's a story I've seen countless times before. We go out, and they flirt shamelessly, then go back to acting like nothing is going on the next day. Every time I see them dance together, they seem so in tune, especially now, as they let go of whatever's holding them back. Tilly's arms gently wrap around his neck, the beer still in one hand, her smile full of warmth and affection as she says something to him. Tommy's cheeks grow rosy as he grins.

It's so intimate that I have to turn away. As I glance around the club, the loud music and dazzling lights reveal couples completely lost in each other, just like that.

Frowning at the sight, I take another long drink, letting the fizzy liquid flow down my throat. I'm not about to interrupt whatever is going on with my friends. Feeling like a sudden third wheel, I retreat to a table near the room's edge, my beer in hand, tapping my foot to the music. But something feels off. This night was meant for fun, for dancing, yet here I am, sidelined. There are a few groups of men hanging around, but I have no idea how to ask one of them to dance. Instead, I head back to the bar. It's Tilly's personal belief that tequila makes everything better and I'm about to subscribe to that idea.

"Claire!" I call out, and she looks over, holding onto a box of liquor. "Two tequila shots?"

Claire sets her box down and then steps onto it, expertly retrieving the top-shelf tequila. Because why use a stool when you can live dangerously? In a fluid motion, she pours two generous shots before moving on to another customer. I grab one of the shot glasses and toss it back. It burns all the way down, a warmth spreading through me, loosening the knots of tension.

"Good, eh?" A man's voice catches me off guard.

I turn to see him, a crooked smile under a mop of neatly combed dark blonde hair, a white v-neck straining against broad shoulders. My cheeks heat up at his gaze. "Erm, yeah. Want one?" I nudge the second shot towards him.

He downs it smoothly and wipes a dribble from his chin. "Dance?"

"Uh, sure." He holds out his hand, and I look at it for a split second before grabbing on. His palm is warm in mine as he leads me away from the bar, my laughter barely contained. Maybe I didn't need liquid courage after all. I make a mental note for the next time I'm out dancing. Just buy them a drink.

The man doesn't go far before he's turning around. There's a slightly awkward moment where we're both just staring at each other, like we're in the wild west about to draw our six shooters. Only with less tumbleweeds and ponchos and more disco lights and alcohol. I've caught plenty of looks before, but something about him sparks an unfamiliar excitement. His deep brown eyes seem to see right through me, igniting a shiver of anticipation. An intensity radiates from him, silently communicating the promise of a good time.

When he steps closer, he drapes my arm over his shoulder and puts his hand on my hip. We find our rhythm effortlessly, his guidance making me feel like I was born to dance. But when the song switches to something with a salsa beat, I suddenly find myself wondering if my hips do lie, because they're not speaking any language I understand.

He pulls me close. "Relax, move with me," the man says. His fingers grip onto my hips and it's like a translator to my body. We move in sync, floating around in a bubble all our own.

Each spin sends my hair flying, laughter escaping me, and feeling more alive than I have in a long time. The closer we get, the more I'm drawn to him, his presence enveloping me in a pure, exhilarating scent that's all his own.

When we're face to face again, his smile is wide and infectious, and I make the decision to close the gap between us. So far, he's been a complete gentleman, not letting his hands dip lower than my necessary and his eyes staying on my face. In fluid harmony, we sway together with an effortless grace. The song switches again, something faster, with a heavy bass line. I let our bodies touch in a tantalizing game of nearness and distance, a delicate balance that he seems to enjoy. But me? I'm practically begging for more. His scent fills my senses, a hint of salt mingled with something uniquely him.

Not sweat, something purer than that. It hits me like a thirty-foot wave. The man smells like the ocean. As soon as I realize it, my body heats from the inside out.

Encouraged by that idea, I reach up, tangling my hand in his hair; I feel the crisp, dried salt in the long strands on top. Bingo! Surfer detected. Well either that or he's a rogue merman come to land for his ten-year anniversary of when he was lost at sea.

I laugh loudly at the ridiculous thought, and he smiles. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Totally!" I yell above the music. He twirls me around just as I say, "This is more fun than watching a dude get kicked in the crotch." His eyebrows lower and he points to his ear. It's too loud for him to catch my stupid joke so I just nod. Safer that way.

We spin again, each laugh I let out seems to draw him closer, his presence a thrilling charge in the air around us. My skin tingles, heat pooling in my belly.

As we dance, the buzz of alcohol in my veins amplifies the connection between us. His hands, rough and strong, roam over my back, igniting sparks wherever they touch. The colors of the club lights flash around us, casting us in a surreal, vibrant glow. I'm completely lost in the sensation of moving with him, his body an anchor in the pulsing tide of music.

"I'm Greg," he says during a brief lull in the music.

"Stacy," I lie.

"You're fucking beautiful, Stacy."

His compliment launches me into a state of blush-induced panic, my brain scrambling for a comeback that's somewhere between ‘Thank you' and ‘I know we just met, but let's elope.' In a swift move, his grip tightens on my hips, and my heart races with anticipation. I lean against him more, letting our bodies press together. The physical connection is undeniable, as something hard grazing my stomach suggests he's just as turned on as I am. The feeling of his cock pressing against me only fuels my desire to get closer.

It's been too long since I've allowed myself to feel this way, but Greg, respectful yet undeniably drawn to me, stirs a longing I've tried to suppress in the past. I lean in, my voice a seductive whisper. "Greg, you're a fantastic dancer."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows wiggle, and I have to fight to suppress a laugh. But he leans close to my ear and stops moving altogether. "You should see what I can do off the dance floor."

His response sends a shiver through me, his intent clear as his arousal grows stiffer against my stomach. His gaze locks onto mine, fiery and intense, and I'm captivated by the sheer strength in it. I break our staring and look down. But it's not as helpful with quelling my urge to kiss him as I had hoped. The visible veins in his arms hint at the power beneath his skin. The man probably tosses bags of bricks around for fun.The thought of him, of what he could do with my body, sends my imagination into overdrive.

As he looks at me, desire written all over his face, I lick my lips, an invitation he seems hesitant to accept. Feeling bolder than ever before, I decide I'm done waiting for him to make a move.

Rising on my tiptoes, I crash my mouth against his. Greg's reaction is immediate; his arms wrap around my back, and he squeezes us together. My mind is floating as his mouth opens against mine. It's with a passion that leaves me reeling, his tongue exploring my mouth in a dance as intricate and intense as the one we've just shared on the floor. His hair, stiff with salt, twists under my fingers as I respond with equal fervor.

The kiss is unlike anything I've ever experienced, a revelation of need and desire that words could never capture. Like one thousand angels have burst into chorus while fireworks blast in the sky behind them. It makes every other time I've touched lips with someone feel like a cheap imitation, like generic store brand frosted flakes while Greg is pure Kellogg's.

His hands travel up my back, tangling into my hair. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, and he takes the hint, deepening the kiss. An ache is starting to build between my thighs as pure passion passes between us. When he finally pulls back, my heart is racing, and my body is alight with longing. With a final nibble on my lip, he smiles at me.

"Wanna get out of here?" he breaths out the question like he's offering me the last chopper out of a war zone, and honestly, I'm ready to climb aboard. A flicker of nervousness passes through me at the thought. Am I really about to hook up with Mr. Sexy Dance Dude?

"My friends are…" I glance back at Tilly and Tommy, hoping for a grown-up decision from them, but they're just grinning at me like two kids who've been given free reign at a candy store. Tilly's wink and raised beer are all the encouragement I need. "Unconcerned it seems," I say with a laugh, allowing Greg to lead me away from the dance floor, the promise of what lies ahead sending a thrill of excitement and nervous anticipation through me.