Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 40 🌶️

Emersyn

"Hey, Emmie, want to dance?" Fowler's voice pulls me from my Marx-induced reverie.

I look at him, taking a moment to register his words. "Yeah, sure," I say, finally coming back to the here and now. We get up and make our way to the dance floor. As we start to move to the music, I feel the alcohol from the shot and my drink coursing through my veins, loosening my limbs, freeing my mind.

Fowler's hands are on my hips, guiding me in a slow grind to the beat of the music. I move in rhythm with him, my back to his front, and let myself go. The sensation is intoxicating. A heady mix of alcohol, music, and the awareness of Marx's gaze, which I feel like a physical touch even from across the room.

I turn in Fowler's arms to face him and keep dancing, but my eyes are drawn like magnets back to Marx. He's there, behind the bar, his gaze locked onto me. His eyes are even more intense than before, filled with a primal, raw need that mirrors my own. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat screaming his name.

As the song changes, Cruz and Locke join us on the dance floor. We all move in time with the music, a tangle of limbs and laughter. But even as I dance with Fowler, as I laugh with Cruz and Locke, a part of me is still locked in that silent exchange with Marx. It's as if there's an invisible thread connecting us, pulling taut with each passing second.

I feel like I'm on the edge of a precipice, one step away from tumbling into something deep and unknown. The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying. My skin is tingling, my senses heightened, as if my body knows that something momentous is about to happen.

The song ends, and another begins, the beat thumping in time with my heartbeat. Fowler's grip on my waist tightens, and he pulls me closer. "You okay? You seem a little distracted," he says, his voice barely audible over the music.

"I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile. "Just enjoying the moment."

But that's only half true. Yes, I'm enjoying the moment, but I'm also acutely aware that this moment is part of something larger. Something that's been building ever since I moved in with these guys, ever since I met Marx. This truly is where I was meant to be, with these men.

Fowler looks at me, then follows my line of sight. I can tell when he figures out what I'm staring at. He turns back to me, giving me a knowing look and I can't help but to blush.

I press my face against Fowler's chest, trying to hide my embarrassment of being caught basically eye fucking Marx.

"We should get going," Locke announces, looking at his phone for the time. "I've got to be up early for work."

"Yeah, me too," Cruz adds, finishing off his drink.

We all nod in agreement, gathering our coats and belongings.

"Hey, thanks for coming out, guys," Marx says as we approach to say our goodbyes. "I have to stay and close up, do a little bookkeeping. But I'm glad you came."

"So are we," Fowler replies, grinning. "See you back at the house."

We exit the bar and head home, the night air crisp and invigorating. It's a quiet ride back; the energy from the evening seems to have settled into a contented lull. When we get home, Locke and Cruz immediately head to bed, citing their early mornings.

Fowler and I find ourselves alone, settling down on the couch. The alcohol is still there, a pleasant hum in my veins. I'm not drunk, but I feel light, almost effervescent. Fowler seems to sense my heightened mood.

"You looked insanely sexy tonight, Emmie," he says, his eyes searching mine.

"Oh, did I now?" I tease, but I can't ignore the quickening of my pulse.