"THIS IS WHY I wanted to keep you on my side of the bar."

August's husky voice overtook my senses as he murmured in my ear. He'd caught me in his arms, trapping me with my back to his chest. We were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, so I probably should have been uncomfortable with how close we were, but August curled around me protectively, and I didn't care to break away.

Once I'd recovered from the surprise of running into him, I glanced over my shoulder. His eyes glittered like hard diamonds, ever watchful.

"I'm not allowed to dance?" I asked.

"You're allowed to dance," he murmured before his eyes darted past me, presumably to his friend. "Just not with Finny."

I looked across the dance floor to find Finn watching us, a sly grin on his face.

"I don't think he even really wanted to dance with me," I said honestly.

Pretty sure it was just a tactic to make this happen, which made me wonder how much August's friends knew about me. I'd assumed when August had mentioned that he liked me, he simply meant in comparison to other reporters. But now...

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," August grunted.

He still hadn't released me, which was surprising. But not as surprising as when August began swaying his hips to the beat of the sultry music coming from the jukebox in the corner by the pool table. Without thinking, I mimicked his movements, letting us sway together.

"Fine, then tell me who else is on the no-dance list," I said, following his lead and dropping my weight against his sturdy wall of muscle, letting him take control. "What about that guy?"

I pointed to a man sitting on the edge of the dance floor. He had beachy blonde hair and the look of someone who'd had one too many beers. I'd see his eyes flit over me a number of times throughout the past few hours. I didn't think it was in interest, though. More...curiosity. Like he wanted to know who I was and where I came from. And similarly, I was curious who he was and if he had a reason to care.

August's grip tightened around my waist, his tone tinted with warning. "You don't even know that guy."

"So?" I shrugged, smiling to myself.

I couldn't see August's face, but I imagined him rolling his eyes.

"No."

"What?"

"I'm answering your question. No, you're not allowed to dance with him."

"Because I don't know him?"

"Yes." August paused before finishing his answer. "You shouldn't dance with people you don't know."

"I don't know anyone in this bar besides you," I commented lightly.

"Guess that means you're dancing with me, then." But despite his words, August's arms slowly loosened as he settled his hands on my hips instead. He heaved a sigh. "Or we can sit back down."

This man really loved to tell me to sit today. But even though my feet ached, and my legs were killing me from working the bar all day, I didn't feel like resting. The music was infectious, and the closeness of August's body was equally addictive. Other bar-goers crammed around us, similarly drawn by the atmosphere and good music.

"Sit?" I questioned. "You're not going to dance with me, Fletcher?"

I flashed him a small smile over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of his hardened expression. It was difficult to read, but I thought I detected indecision.

He didn't want to sit down, either.

"It's not a good idea," he said with a frown, even as his fingers dug into my hips, reluctant to let go. The song changed, the tempo picking up, and he followed it, demanding my body to move, too. I could tell how much he liked taking control. How much he craved it. The faster pace felt dirtier, like we were chasing something and couldn't wait to reach it.

"Why not?" I asked breathlessly.

August's breathing had picked up, too. I could feel his rough gasps on the shell of my ear as he tried to devise a reason why it wasn't a good idea.

I knew why. It was because of this. This felt good. Too good. This felt like something we really shouldn't be doing. Something undeniably unprofessional.

"I'm supposed to be behind the bar," he rasped eventually.

"The rush is over," I reasoned as I looped my arm back, hooking it behind his neck. I didn't want him to go. Not yet. Not when this felt like a perfectly good excuse to keep him close to me. This wasn't definitely wasn't a good idea. But it felt too good to stop, and I could say this whole thing was for the sake of the experience. Right? "They'll survive without you for one song."

August released a breath, a hot sigh that had me repressing a shiver. "One song," he allowed.

"One song," I agreed.

One song, and then we'd put a stop to this. He'd go back behind the bar, and I'd return to my lone table, and we'd keep a little distance between us. I would need that if I even hoped to survive this trip.

We fell silent for a bit, letting the music take the lead. August wrapped an arm around me again, pulling me flush to his chest before trailing his other hand up my arm, still hooked around his neck. I could feel the worn calluses on his fingertips as they brushed over my skin, and the roughness made my senses tingle. Every light touch felt seductive, although I was sure he didn't mean it that way. In fact, I was starting to suspect that August Fletcher was simply an experienced man on the dancefloor.

When August's touch disappeared, I dropped my tingling arm. I shouldn't encourage this, although I wondered if it was too late. My arm wasn't the only thing tingling, and my skin was feverish. Every rock of August's body against mine felt like a tick on a timebomb.

"You're a good dancer." I cleared my throat, glancing back at him. His face remained stoic, tense. "Do you do this often? Dance the night away at Sunny's?"

I felt him shake his head. "Never."

My brows raised. "You don't dance?"

Another shake of his head.

"You could have fooled me," I commented because August Fletcher knew how to move. It shouldn't surprise me, considering the coordination and talent he displayed during football games, but still. There was a difference between knowing how to catch balls and knowing how to use your own to catch women in a hold like he had me in. A hold that felt delicious.

"It's just rhythm, Castle," he said gruffly. "And there are other...activities that practice rhythm. Activities I'm pretty damn good at."

The low, husky way he'd muttered those last words couldn't be a mistake. "Activities, huh?"

I had a feeling I knew what activities he was talking about, and I didn't doubt he was good at them. August rarely uttered a cocky word, so whenever he did, there was something undeniably sexy about it.

"I can spell it out for you if you want," he offered, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Someone was a bit of a flirt tonight. And frankly, I adored it. Whenever I got August to loosen his tongue a little, I felt accomplished.

"You mean it's not football?"

I couldn't help it; I threw my arm back again, daring to sift my fingers into the soft curls at the base of August's neck. He stiffened momentarily, his hand on my hip flexing as though mimicking how my fingers moved, but then he took his other arm and slid it across my ribcage, encouraging me to lean back into him. I did, resting my head on his shoulder and glancing at him.

This time, he wore a tilted smile as he looked down at me.

"Not football, Castle."

"Good to know," I said, my lips twitching. "I wouldn't want to wrongly credit football for your dancing skills in my article."

His eyes rolled up and then returned, meeting mine with a surge of heat. "You won't write about my dancing skills in your article."

His words were confident, causing me to raise a brow in question. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because then you'd have to explain how you know," he said, lifting a brow back at me. "You'd have to explain this."

He emphasized precisely what this was by grinding his hips into mine, making the rhythm we were following even dirtier. Then he let his fingertips trail across my rib cage, dancing just below my breasts. God, it made me ache. And if I wasn't mistaken, I could feel how equally affected August was.

I bit down on my lip to keep a desperate sound in. When August said he was a grower, he hadn't been lying.

"Definitely wouldn't want to explain this," I gasped when I got a handle on myself.

"That's what I thought," August said smugly.

To my dismay, he eased up, putting a bit of distance between his crotch and my ass, and it was embarrassing how disappointed I was. But if I could get under August's skin once, I could do it again.

"So when's the last time you practiced this...activity?" I asked, flicking my eyes up to his face.

His lips twitched as though he was holding in laughter. "Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" I repeated. "When? With who?"

We had to be thinking about different activities, right? Because if not...well, no. It couldn't be. I'd been with August constantly since I arrived on Evergreen.

Except for when we went to bed last night...

"I don't know why you sound jealous, Castle." August's low voice, suddenly smooth with a hint of amusement, cut into my thoughts. "You were there, and you refused to join.

What the hell was he talking about?

"I think I would have remembered if you had propositioned me yesterday."

"On the beach," August supplied. If he realized how I didn't deny feeling jealous, he didn't say anything. Which was likely for the best, considering how hot my cheeks suddenly felt. "You really don't remember that?"

Dropping my arm from around his neck, I spun in his arms until we faced each other. Confusion riddled my thoughts, and I needed to see his face to fully understand what the hell he was talking about.

"No, I don't. And I think I would remember you asking me to do that on the beach," I said.

His smile was fully formed now. "Asking you to do what, exactly?"

My eyes skirted away from his, evasive, and then August did something I didn't expect. He laughed. It was so full of life that I could feel it vibrating through my body. "Didn't realize Quinn Castle had such a dirty mind," he chuckled. "But I was talking about surfing. It's all in the hips, after all."

He rocked his hips against mine, which had stopped moving, too focused on our conversation.

Goddamn him.

My lips pulled into an embarrassed frown. "I hate you."

He shook his head. "No, you don't."

"How would you know?" I challenged.

His hips once again chased mine. He leaned forward, finding my ears and letting his lips graze the skin just below it. "You weren't dancing with me like you hate me."

He was right about that.

I couldn't help it: I leaned into him and let my body find the rhythm of the music again. It was a different song. We'd said only one, but it was definitely a different song. A slower one, like some kind of ballad.

"And how am I dancing with you?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

I barely heard it, but a moan slipped through August's lips. "I'm really trying not to think too hard about that right now, actually."

I grinned up at him. "Ah, is that why you're so chatty? You need a distraction?"

He shrugged. "Maybe."

Well, if that was the case...I stopped talking and let our bodies pick up where our mouths had left off. But August saw right through me.

He lifted a brow. "Oh, so you want me to think about it?"

It was my turn to shrug. "Maybe I just want payback."

His eyes momentarily fluttered shut. "It's not much of a punishment, Castle."

It took a second for his words to fully seep into my bones, and then I felt them, hot and heady. They weighed me down, grounding me. But not more than a second after my full realization, August abruptly dropped me from his grasp and stepped away with a curse.

Without meeting my eyes, he grumbled, "I have to go back to the bar."

And then he was gone, his absence hitting me hard.

Too hard, considering the circumstances.

I had a sinking suspicion I'd been right; dancing had been something we really shouldn't have done.

☀️

a/n:

Respectfully, I disagree, Quinn.

thanks for reading!
xoxo amelie