Sloane cringed at the memory. “I’m pretty sure your horrifying attempt to teach him the Running Man does not qualify as dancing. Besides, Ash isn’t drunk.” Sloane made sure no one was watching before subtly squeezing Dex’s side, making him squirm with a husky laugh that went straight to Sloane’s dick. Then again, there wasn’t much about the sexy blond that didn’t get Sloane hard. Usually all it took was that disarming smile. That smile was dangerous. Coupled with those pale blue eyes and those plump soft lips…. Sloane really needed to get a hold of himself.
“That’s because Ash’s blood is made of acid or something equally toxic.” Dex took Sloane’s beer from him, his eyes on Sloane as he put the bottle to his lips and took a couple of gulps, exposing his neck. The little bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Damn it, Dex.” Sloane forced himself to look away. The last thing he needed was to walk around with a hard-on in an apartment filled with fellow agents.
“Dance with me.”
“I don’t dance.” Why are you even trying? You know he’s going to get his way. He always gets his way. Sloane figured he should at least make it look like he’d tried. He started by swiping his beer back from his sexy partner.
“Ash is busy threatening people with imminent death if they puke on his floor. I still can’t believe he volunteered to have my pre-birthday-party party at his place.” Dex narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and Sloane tried not to laugh. His partner hadn’t stopped questioning Ash’s motives since their gruff friend offered to have the party at his apartment. Ash was a neat freak and hated having his stuff touched.
“He said there’d be more space.” And there was. But it was still Ash’s space.
Like most lion Therians, Ash didn’t take kindly to having his space invaded by outsiders. Sloane tried to think of an instance where anyone who wasn’t part of their team had been extended an invitation to the large, modern-style apartment. The place was spacious and open with cream-colored walls, except for the wall on the far end. That one was brick, with two huge windows extending from the dark-wood staircase up to the ceiling that overlooked the city. At the top of the simplistic staircase was Ash’s office with a hallway that led to a bathroom and his bedroom.
Downstairs, the living room consisted of dark browns and reds. It was beside the open kitchen, which continued the brown color pattern with its dark cabinets. The appliances were all stainless steel along with the island counter chairs and cabinet door handles. The floors were wood, and there were several potted plants around the room. The apartment was minimalistic but bold, much like its owner.
Sloane was as curious as Dex was regarding the reasons behind Ash’s kind gesture. Of course, there had been some rules. Ash put Cael in charge of the music, which meant no Billy Ocean, no Hall & Oates, and certainly no Journey. Dex had pretend-fainted over the news, and Sloane had soothed his partner while doing some pretending of his own—as in pretending it was a shame Cael had rejected the pre-1989 playlist. In the end, it had cost Sloane. Dex’s pouting usually did, and a few minutes later Sloane found himself agreeing to let Dex program his favorite eighties station Retro Radio into the Impala’s stereo. His partner had also somehow managed to make it the default station, which meant whether Dex was in the car with him or not, it was the first thing he heard when he turned on his car’s stereo each and every time.
Dex clapped his hands to the beat of something that sounded suspiciously like an eighties song before singing about friends not dancing and leaving them behind. Dex grinned knowingly. “He let me have one.”
“And this is the one you picked?”
“I thought it appropriate.”
“Still no.”
“Fine,” Dex said with a sigh. “Guess I’ll have to dance with Taylor.”
Sloane couldn’t help his low growl. “Really? That’s your game plan?”
“I can only say no to him so many times. Besides, it’ll give me an excuse to punch him if he grabs my ass again.”
“He grabbed your ass?” That sleazy asshole.
Dex grinned slyly. “Has anyone told you how cute your jealous boyfriend face is?”
Sloane grabbed Dex’s wrist and led him to the center of the living room where everyone was pressed up against each other, dancing and grinding in a drunken orgy of frivolity. The majority of their teammates were so far gone by now and squished together, it was unlikely anyone would even be able to tell who Sloane danced with. He doubted they’d remember come morning. Sloane turned and pulled Dex close, letting his hand rest on Dex’s hip. Dex lip-synched along with the catchy Daft Punk song as he moved, wriggling his eyebrows when it came to the part about getting lucky.
Sloane loved watching Dex dance. The easy way he moved. The way his body responded to the music, like it was a natural-born instinct. One that couldn’t be helped. Sloane found himself smiling as he watched Dex’s body, studying his movements, the fluidity in which he adapted to the beat changes. Dex pulled some more disco moves that fit with the song and Sloane laughed.
“How long have you been dancing?” Sloane asked, aware of Dex inching closer.
“Since I was a kid. My mom used to dance with me around the kitchen when she was baking. On weekends, my dad would put on his records, and we used to jump around the living room until we were so tired we’d collapse from exhaustion. Then mom would bring us lemonade. They were both great dancers. Totally part of the swinging sixties crowd.”
“Even your dad?”
“You kidding? He rocked the British Invasion. The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks, Dusty Springfield, the Who. I’ve seen pictures of him and my mom. You should have seen him in his black turtleneck and mop top.” Dex chuckled, shaking his head, but Sloane could see how much the loss still pained him. His partner adored Tony and Cael—his adoptive dad and adoptive brother—but that didn’t make the death of his biological family any easier.
Sloane gave Dex a playful poke in his belly. “They’d have been proud of you.”
“Thanks.” Dex beamed, his smile disappearing the moment Taylor’s arm landed around his shoulders. The guy never quit. He was always gravitating toward Dex, despite Sloane’s obvious displeasure or the fact Sloane had already warned the guy once about trying anything funny. Agent Ellis Taylor was a good Team Leader, but he made it no secret he enjoyed a “fuck ’em and leave ’em” lifestyle. He slept around with teammates, indifferent to the consequences. As long as it didn’t have an adverse effect on his own career, it didn’t matter what happened to anyone else.
Taylor threw his arms up, drawing attention to himself as usual. “Holy shit, someone call the fucking press. Sloane Brodie’s dancing.”
There was a collective drunken cheer, and Sloane gave them a smirk before flipping them off.
“How’d you manage that, Daley?” Taylor threw his arm back around Dex only to have it swiftly removed.