“Hey, that’s where your G spot is, René says—”
“That’s enough, Harper.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
We share a laugh.
“Now, what is it you want, my grumpy boxer?”
I pour some more wine in both our glasses. “I want you to dance for me.”
“What?”
“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you dance. I mean I’ve watched clips but—”
She palms my jaw. “Say no more. You want me to do it now?”
“Can’t think of a better time.”
This excites her. She tosses back her glass and hands it to me.
“Okay, what are you thinking? Fast and furious or,” she waggles her brows, “slow and sexy?”
“How about your number in the show?”
“Yeah?”
“Hell yes.”
“Okay,” she jumps up from the window seat, her face animated. “You know I told you it’s called Retro, right?” She makes quick work of connecting her phone to the large set of speakers in the room before pushing her coffee table out of the way. It’s the only large room in the apartment, which I can now see had to be the selling point.
“Okay, so we all got 80s movie theme songs to dance to.”
“Yeah? What’s yours?”
“It’s the “Love Theme from St. Elmo’s Fire.” Have you heard of it?”
“Nope.”
“I hadn’t either, but I loved it. Oh shit, I need some panties on.”
“Not necessary.”
“That’ll be just way too graphic, even for us, Prescott.”
“Fine. Five-minute pass.”
“You’re such a twisted pervert.”
“I haven’t seen or licked that pussy in two years. We’ve missed each other.”
“Primitive indeed, geesh.”
She disappears for a few seconds and comes back wearing shorts along with silky red ballerina shoes wrapped around her ankles.
“We said nothing about the addition of clothing.”