Chapter 14: Just Dance

APOV

Saturday, November 26th, 2005,

Catskills, NY

Yeah—so I went there I had that awkward conversation with Jasper, where I actually brought up what he and Alice would've done to get through Edward's whole existential crisis if I hadn't come along. If they had followed the roles Meyer originally laid out for them on the page.

Honestly, it was probably more embarrassing for him than it was for me. Especially when I told him that if Alice had ever needed that level of comfort from him, I'd be okay with it. I mean, intellectually, I was okay with it. I had to think of it like a detached reader—how thrilling it would be to imagine being with an empath like Jasper in that way.

And let's be real, that was one of the things that attracted me to him when I first read the books.

I can happily say that the reality lived up to the fantasy. Big time. But that's none of your business. Well, I did pass out the first few times until I was able to handle the intensity of Jasper's love, lust and desire for me. But that's all you're getting from me.

Still, it was weird. I won't lie.

After that conversation, things kind of fell into a pattern. I worked on my dissertation, Jasper kept painting my tattoos and strumming his guitar. Doing crosswords. He even started helping me in the kitchen, chopping vegetables or stirring whatever I had simmering on the stove, especially when I was too engrossed in writing to pay attention to dinner. He took up running for the hell of it.

Once a month, he'd dutifully leave on his so-called "fishing trip" with Emmett so I could writhe in agony when Aunt Flo decided to make her grand entrance. I still hated menstrual cramps, but at least I didn't have to deal with an audience. Flo left late yesterday evening.

And then there was Alice. She continued to flit in and out of our little retreat in the Catskills. I wouldn't say she moved in, exactly, but she did leave her things lying around as if she owned the place. She was like this perpetual couch surfer, drifting from one spot to another, always landing somewhere comfortable before flitting off again.

I'm almost positive she did have spare keys to the cabin. Or maybe vampires never believe in locks.

It was strange, this life we'd settled into. But it worked, in its own odd way. Every so often, though, when the tension became too much, I'd drown my sorrows in wine. Jasper never intervened, never complained, but he'd learned his lesson well enough to leave a large bucket near the bed for the inevitable morning aftermath.

Honestly, I'm surprised Carlisle never suggested to Jasper that he offer me water between glasses of wine or, I don't know, a handful of crackers. You'd think a doctor, especially one as old and experienced as Carlisle, would have mentioned that at some point. But no, my poor vampire boyfriend had to deal with my human messiness all on his own.

It was around American Thanksgiving – yeah, I am Canadian, it's called American Thanksgiving. I celebrate Thanksgiving in October, when it's supposed to occur. But I digress. It was around this time when Jasper was itching to go out. He brought it up like it was a casual idea, like we were just going to the grocery store or something. "Wouldn't it be amusing," he mused, "to head into the city and, I don't know, dance?"

Dance. Like dance-dance, where there are people and loud music? Jasper, the empath who felt every emotion within a five click radius, wanted to go clubbing. I almost choked on my latte. Oh, and let's not forget the small detail of countless lusty guys whose minds would immediately jump to... well, let's just say, unsavory places. Normally, Jasper steers clear of any situation where he might get overwhelmed with other people's feelings. And clubs? They're basically emotional hotboxes. Does he not remember when we went to Seattle for a latte? It was like being in a fishbowl for him. Or is this him attempting to get me to forget about our conversation about needs?

But then I remembered. He had seen me perform at the Spring Formal. Not to brag, but I kind of owned that stage — my voice, my moves, all of it. And I might have mentioned a time or two (or ten) about my days in Montreal, going out with my friends and that summer in Munich with Michel, watching him spin tracks and we had a blast navigating the club scene. Maybe Jasper wanted to see that side of me. The real me. The girl who used to dance until her feet hurt and who knew how to throw her head back and laugh just because the music was good.

The thought of showing that side to Jasper, of letting him into my old world, thrilled me. I hadn't been out dancing since before I found myself trapped in the pages of Meyer's saga, and yeah, I missed it. And here he was, my vampire boyfriend — the one person I'd never imagined in a club setting — looking at me with that unreadable expression, casually suggesting we take on the city like it was the most natural activity in the world. Maybe this was another one of our 'various pursuits'.

What the hell, just lean into it, right?

But still, I needed confirmation about this plan.

"Tex," I said slowly, making sure I hadn't just hallucinated. "Are you saying you want to… go out? Like, into a bar, with actual people?"

He just shrugged, all nonchalant, like this wasn't the most bizarre thing he'd ever proposed. "Why not? You miss it, don't you?"

Hell to the ya I miss it! I kept that thought to myself and instead, I forced myself to take a sip of my latte and act as calm as possible. "Sure, I miss it," I replied, aiming for casual. "But do you know what clubbing actually entails? It's loud, there's a lot of movement, and some people get, you know, close. I'm not sure you're really… a 'club guy.'" And won't that be like sensory overload for you?

And here he smirked — a rare sight — like he knew something I didn't. "Maybe you'll be surprised. Maybe you don't know everything about me either.

Did Meyer portray him to be a club guy, and I missed this? I mean it's possible, I did kinda skim read through the third book but there sure as fuck was no mention of clubbing in New Moon. But again, what the hell, why not?

After getting over the initial shock, I realized I'd need to find something to wear. As much as I'd packed like my life depended on it when I left Forks — two suitcases, brimming with enough essentials to survive an apocalypse or a particularly chilly evening — "clubbing clothes" weren't exactly high on my list of priorities.

I kept digging through my closet, pushing past the plaid shirts and warm sweaters until I spotted a flash of purple at the back, tucked away like a secret. The purple wrap top. I hadn't even thought about it since I'd packed it back in September. I'd thrown it in on a whim, maybe out of some sentimental streak I didn't want to admit to myself at the time.

It was the top I'd worn the night we had sex for the first time. Soft fabric, slightly off the shoulders, and just snug enough to accentuate my curves. The last time I'd worn it, I had basically undressed myself in front of Jasper while he sat there on my bed in awe that we were actually gonna partake in some bedroom gymnastics. And now, standing in my closet with this top in my hands, the memory came flooding back, warmth and nerves hitting me all at once. Ta-ba-nak! That night went beyond my wildness imaginations.

I slipped it on, feeling the familiar way it wrapped around me, dipping slightly off my shoulders, hugging just right in all the places I knew Jasper would notice. I glanced in the mirror, running a hand down my side, half-nervous, half-excited. I hadn't dressed up like this in months, and I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to look more like Montrealer Anya ready to dance the night away.

I paired it with a black mini skirt and black tights, along with the heeled boots I'd buried at the bottom of my suitcase, the ones that added just enough height to make me feel powerful. This outfit wasn't just for me; I wanted Jasper to see me like this. To see the woman who could close a club down.

I took one last look in the mirror, adjusted the wrap top, and nodded to my reflection. Now it was time to tackle the rest of the look – hair and makeup.

I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, twisting it until it held in just the right balance of artful and chaotic, then secured it with my trademark chopsticks. A generous spray of hairspray kept everything in place, a bit wild but not too much. The messy bun framed my face just right, giving me that effortless, "I didn't try too hard" vibe, even though I'd definitely spent at least ten minutes getting it exactly right.

In the mirror, the look was coming together. The purple wrap top showed just enough shoulder, the mini skirt hugged my ass like a second skin, and the boots gave me that confident edge. With the chopsticks holding my hair up, I looked… well, not like the version of me Jasper was used to seeing. Not the put together professional sexy librarian or the casual AC/DC t-shirt wearing gal either. But someone a little more unpredictable. Someone ready to let loose and take on the night.

My makeup with barely there, effortless. Even if it took me twenty minutes to perfect the look. Just the right amount of eyeshadow, liner and mascara. Blush to highlight my cheeks. A few swipes of lipstick.

I added in some teardrop earrings and a small teardrop pendant that nestled just above my breasts. My henna tattoo looked amazing snaking up my arms and around my décolleté.

When I bounded down the stairs into the living room, ready to knock him off his feet, it turned out Jasper had a few surprises of his own. He was leaning casually against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, and for a second, I couldn't help but stare.

He'd gone for skin-tight, faded jeans that hugged his legs like they were custom-made, accentuating every lean muscle. The soft, dark henley stretched over his chest and arms, managing to look both effortlessly casual and… well, ridiculously hot. I knew he was strong, obviously, but the way the fabric clung to his shoulders and torso made it very, very obvious. Not that I was complaining. When and where the hell did he get changed?

And his hair — his blond hair looked a little more artfully disheveled than usual, like he'd just rolled out of bed in the most perfect way possible. But then I noticed the subtle shine, the way a few pieces stuck up just so, and it hit me.

"Wait… did you use hair wax?" I asked, eyebrows raised, fighting back a laugh. Vampires use hair wax?!

Jasper's expression remained maddeningly neutral, but I didn't miss the tiny flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I thought I'd make an effort," he said smoothly, like he hadn't just defied every vampire stereotype in the book. Since when did the man who barely owned any personal grooming products or toiletries decide to fuss with hair products? Oh yeah, that was the other thing I was learning about cohabitating with a vampire, or at least a male vampire: no need for a toothbrush, toothpaste, not even deodorant or cologne! It was maddening how effortlessly put together they were.

"Well, I have to say, it's… effective," I managed, taking a step closer to inspect his handiwork. He'd somehow struck the perfect balance between rugged and refined, and it was almost unfair. Here I was, thinking I was the one pulling out all the stops, and he'd gone and matched me effortlessly. I was just thankful it wasn't the middle of the afternoon on a sunny day or else we'd never have made it out the door. He was Adonis standing there leaning against the wall.

He gave me a slow, appraising look, his gaze flicking down from my hair to my purple wrap top and all the way to my boots. "You look… amazing, Anya," he said softly, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration that made my pulse quicken. "You ready to show me how it's done?"

Oh, I was ready all right. But I had a feeling this night would be more about showing each other a thing or two.

We headed into the heart of a college town, lights glowing against the snow-covered streets, laughter spilling out from bars and pubs on every corner. It was late November in the Catskills, so, naturally, there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground, but I'd walked through worse in Montreal without a jacket. Jasper, of course, had asked if I wanted his — probably twice — but I just waved him off. I could practically feel him rolling his eyes as he held the car door open for me, glancing at my bare shoulders.

"Montreal tough, remember?" I smirked, stepping out into the chill, letting the cold air wake me up a little. The purple wrap top felt just right, a warm reminder of that night in Forks, and somehow, the cold only added to the thrill of the night.

"Doesn't make you any less crazy," Jasper muttered, but I could see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He didn't mind, not really. I think he was a little fascinated by my blatant disregard for New York's winter as I brushed past him, breathing in the crisp night air and the faint smell of wood smoke from nearby chimneys.

We found our way to a lively bar, the windows fogged up from the heat inside and music pulsing faintly through the walls. I could see college students crammed into every corner, and there was a line of them outside, huddled together for warmth as they stamped their feet in the snow. Jasper and I walked past them, and I couldn't help noticing how a few of the girls gave him a once-over. Not that I could blame them — he looked like he'd just stepped out of a fantasy: golden hair tousled, that dark henley clinging to him like it had been tailored to fit every inch.

I slipped my arm through his, flashing him a mischievous smile. "Ready to dive in?"

He glanced at me, clearly absorbing the chaotic tangle of emotions and energy emanating from the building. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, his voice laced with amusement as the bouncer let us in without a second glance. Did Tex emote a lil compliance to the guy? I mean we completely bypassed the line up. Oh well. Not gonna complain.

We walked inside, and instantly, a wave of heat and sound hit us. The place was packed, dimly lit, with walls plastered in faded posters and neon lights that pulsed above the bar. The energy was electric — laughter, clinking glasses, voices shouting to be heard over the music.

Jasper looked around, taking it all in, and for a moment, his eyes lit up with something close to excitement. He leaned close, his mouth near my ear to be heard over the music. "So… where do we start?"

I scanned the bar, taking in the neon lights and the groups crowding around tables, laughing over beers and shots. It had been forever since I'd done something like this, and part of me craved the familiar burn of a tequila shot, the instant warmth it brought even on the coldest nights.

I nudged Jasper, giving him a wicked grin. "You know, I could really go for a round of tequila."

His eyebrow arched, and he gave me that look — the one that said he was both intrigued and slightly wary. "I hate to break it to you, but I don't think the bartender is serving vegetarians tonight."

"True, but who says you have to drink it?" I tilted my head, letting the idea sink in. "We can still do the ritual. You know… salt, lime, the works. Besides, it's not like you've ever experienced the full tequila shot tradition." Or had he? Did they have Tequila in antebellum Texas? Note to self: look up history of Tequila.

He looked down at me, faintly amused. "And you're planning to show me?"

"Oh, definitely," I replied, reaching for the saltshaker on the counter. I held his gaze, daring him a little, and then grabbed a lime wedge from the bar. "Now, hold out your wrist," I instructed, winking as he complied, giving me his arm with that mixture of curiosity and challenge that I loved.

I sprinkled a pinch of salt along his wrist, feeling his eyes on me as I leaned in, my mouth close to his skin. Slowly, I licked the salt from his wrist, letting the taste linger. He tensed slightly, and I could feel a shiver run through him, which only made me smile as I followed it up with the tequila and a bite of lime.

"That's how it's done," I said, giving him a triumphant grin. Have you ever licked a vampire and then chased it with Tequila? Damn! Why did it take me this long to try this?!

Jasper looked down at me, his gaze darkening just a little. "You're a dangerous teacher, Anya," he murmured, his voice low and warm, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"Better watch yourself then," I teased, as I ordered us another round.

After a couple of tequila shots — the warmth spreading through my veins, the thrill of the night pulsing through me — I was ready to dance. And not just sway-back-and-forth, polite dancing. I wanted to move.

I glanced at Jasper, my lips curling into a smile. "Mind if I show you how Montreal girls dance?"

He smirked, but his eyes glinted with curiosity. "I think I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

The music was loud, a heavy beat that I could feel in my bones. I slipped away from him, finding a spot on the dance floor, and just… let go. The tequila's warmth and the steady rhythm of the music made me feel like I was right back in Montreal or Munich, like I was dancing at one of Michel's sets. My body moved naturally, fluidly, and somewhere between the tequila and the music, I forgot about everything else. I forgot about how I was trapped between the words of a book. Forgot about Bella drowning in sorrow back in Forks. Hell, I even forgot about Heathcliff and his temper tantrum. It was just me and the music. With some tequila working its way through me.

I could feel Jasper's gaze on me from across the bar, intense and unwavering, like he was seeing me in a whole new light. And I knew that look; it was the same one he'd given me the first time we made love in my bed. That night when everything changed between us. But this was different. This was me, raw and unfiltered, letting loose in a way I never had before around him.

It didn't take long before the college boys around the bar started noticing. I could see them out of the corner of my eye, their attention drifting from their drinks, nudging each other, a few of them trying to work up the nerve to come over. I remembered how it had been in Seattle last Spring, when every single guy in the coffee shop stopped to look my way. There was that same hum of attention, that feeling of being watched — and even a little bit admired.

But the only gaze I cared about was Jasper's. He hadn't moved from his spot by the bar, but his posture had shifted, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that sent a thrill down my spine. It was like he was daring anyone to get too close. And I could see a few of the guys glancing over, catching sight of him and then thinking twice about it.

I swayed to the beat, letting my hips move in time, arms raised, lost in the music and in the way his eyes followed my every step. I danced like I was back with my sisters in Montreal, like I was dancing for the sheer joy of it, feeling every part of the rhythm.

Eventually, Jasper's smirk grew into a full smile, and he made his way over to me, slipping his arms around my waist as he pulled me close. I laughed, feeling a bit breathless as he leaned in, his voice low.

"You've been holding out on me," he murmured, his lips close to my ear. "If I'd known you could dance like this, I would've taken you out months ago."

I grinned up at him, letting my hands rest against his chest. "Maybe I just needed a few tequila shots first."

"Maybe," he replied, his tone teasing. "But I'm not sure I'm willing to share this view with everyone else here."

I looked around, noticing a few disappointed faces when he pulled me closer. But with his arms around me, the bar and everyone in it faded to background noise. It was just us, moving to the music, locked in our own private rhythm, even in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

JPOV

There are things you think you know about a person. You get comfortable with them, accustomed to their quirks and rhythms, until you start to believe you've seen every side of them. I'd danced with Anya before — slow, languid steps in her living room, swaying to old records, nothing rushed, nothing intense. I'd even seen her throw herself around to '80s rock tunes more than a few times, hair flying, jumping on the couch with boundless energy.

But this? This was new.

She'd licked salt off of my skin and then shot back tequila like it was water all the while projecting desire, but I couldn't tell if that was for the drink or for me. A few shots later she's got this look in her eye, and then just left me at the bar while she's off dancing in her own little world on the dance floor. And suddenly, I was one of them: just another guy staring, jaw slightly slack, as Anya lost herself in the beat. Her body moved like water, smooth and easy, completely in sync with the music, like she'd left me and the rest of the room entirely behind. She wasn't dancing with anyone. She was simply… dancing, lost in her own head, as if the rest of us were just watching through some two-way mirror.

And believe me, we were watching.

Her hair was piled up in that artfully messy way she liked, held together by chopsticks and enough hairspray to probably outlast the night. She'd left her shoulders bare, and in the dim light, they looked soft, just the faintest sheen reflecting the neon above. She moved with an intensity and an ease I hadn't seen before, her hips shifting with each beat, her arms tracing a path through the air like she was in her own world.

And yes, I could feel what everyone else in the room was feeling.

It was almost blinding, all that lust, thick and smothering. The college boys were practically panting from their tables, some braver than others, a few inching closer, hoping for an in. I didn't have to turn around to feel the collective heat of their stares. Every jolt of want, every surge of temptation, every scrap of envy in that bar was coming at me in waves, like a heat wave rolling off the ocean, tugging me under with its sheer intensity.

A few of them even seemed to be getting ideas, just barely working up the nerve to cross over and try their luck. But each time they even thought about it, one glance from me, and they'd retreat back to their drinks. Didn't take an empath to know they got the message.

And Anya? She just kept dancing, blissfully unaware of her effect on everyone else. She was making love to the music, to herself, to the very space she occupied. Her lips curved into the smallest hint of a smile, like she knew exactly what she was doing and was letting the rest of us enjoy the show. And if anyone else wanted to think she was doing it for them… well, they were welcome to believe whatever helped them sleep at night.

When I finally couldn't take it anymore, I walked over, threading my way through the crowd, sliding my hands around her waist, pulling her in close. She laughed, breathless, her eyes bright as they met mine. If she'd been putting on a show, it was over now. She was mine again, and I was keenly aware that every boy in that bar knew it.

"You've been holding out on me," I murmured, my lips close to her ear. "If I'd known you could dance like this, I would've taken you out months ago."

Anya's response? That I should have given her a few tequila shots and I'm having to remind her that I'm not a fan of having to share the view of her dancing like this with everyone else watching her.

Her smile widened, her fingers tracing my collar. "Is that a fact, Tex? Well, why don't you show them who's the real man on this dance floor and take me."

Those were fighting words, or at least words I couldn't ignore, and I felt a smirk curl at the edge of my mouth. She wanted to challenge me, wanted to see what I'd do. And far be it from me to back down, especially when she kept undulating those hips against me, knowing full well the effect it had.

With my hands firmly on her waist, I pulled her closer, fitting her against me as the beat of the music pulsed through the floor. I could feel every eye on us — college boys shifting uncomfortably, a few girls whispering, and Anya, her pulse racing under my hands. Her breathing hitched as I leaned down, my mouth close to her ear, just barely grazing her skin.

"You wanted me to show them, didn't you, darlin?" I drawled, letting my voice go low, dark, a little dangerous. "Then let's give them something to remember."

I slid one hand up her back, anchoring her firmly to me, and guided her as we moved to the rhythm. I led her, and she followed, every step fluid, our bodies in perfect sync. The music was pulsing around us, but all I was aware of was Anya, the heat between us, the feel of her fingers clutching my shirt, the way her eyes held mine, challenging me, daring me.

She was breathing harder now, her face flushed, her body pressed fully against mine. I felt her shiver as I traced my fingertips down her back, a deliberate, lingering touch. And the boys? They were practically green with envy, their gazes glued to her as she melted into me, her face tilted up, eyes hooded, like she was completely lost in the moment.

I leaned in again, letting my lips graze the edge of her jaw, just enough to make her breath catch. "Still think I can't handle it?" I whispered, my voice low and daring.

She looked up at me, eyes half-lidded, her voice barely a breath but laced with that teasing challenge. "I think… you're doing pretty well so far." And with that, she spun around, pressing her back against my chest, one arm reaching up to curl around the back of my neck, pulling me down closer.

Instinctively, my hands slid lower, settling firmly on her hips, fingers pressing into her, guiding her as she moved against me in time with the bass. Every movement of her body melted into mine, and I could feel her heartbeat racing, quickening in rhythm with the music — and with every pulse of tension building between us.

Her hand tightened on my neck, and her head tilted back, her hair brushing my shoulder as she sank further into me, eyes closed, giving herself over completely. My fingers tightened at her hips, and I could feel the smirk tugging at my mouth as I watched the college boys, utterly captivated and fully frustrated as they watched her, no longer even trying to hide it. They may have wanted her attention, but she'd made it clear who had her, right here, right now.

And she kept moving against me, every sway and twist a reminder of how well she knew how to drive me to the edge, how perfectly she could keep me in this state of barely controlled fire. With the song building to a feverish pitch, I leaned down, my lips close to her ear. "You keep this up," I murmured, "and we won't be finishing this dance here."

Her breath hitched, and she turned her head just enough to meet my gaze, a spark of daring in her eyes as she pressed back against me. "Then what are you waiting for?"

With that, I took her hand, our fingers entwining as I led her through the crowd. But just as we were making our exit, one college idiot — a frat boy, if the backward cap and half-finished beer in his hand were any clue — decided he hadn't gotten the message. He actually stepped in front of us, blocking our path, and had the nerve to look me over like I was an obstacle he could just brush aside.

"Hey," he said, turning his attention to Anya with the easy arrogance of someone who probably didn't hear "no" very often. "You wanna dance?"

My grip on her hand tightened, and I could feel a dark laugh building in my throat. I waited for her to turn him down, to leave him standing there like the fool he was. But instead, Anya just looked up at me, mischief gleaming in her eyes, and winked.

Before I could even process what she was doing, she slipped her hand from mine and let him lead her right back to the dance floor.

I stayed back, watching as she fell into step with him, moving effortlessly to the beat, that same fluid, confident sway to her hips that had every guy in the place still watching her. The frat boy had a look of triumph on his face, oblivious to the fact that he was a pawn in her game — or maybe ours. Because she knew exactly what she was doing, sending that look my way before pressing closer to him, flashing me a daring grin over his shoulder as she danced.

The poor fool had no idea he was nothing more than a tool she was using to test me, to tease me, to see what I'd do next.

I crossed my arms, leaning back against the bar, letting her play this little game, letting her have her fun. She moved with him easily, keeping that same daring, sultry energy, but it was clear enough to anyone paying attention who she was really dancing for. Her gaze kept flicking back to me, her mouth curving in a smirk as she took it a step further, one hand trailing up her side, over her shoulder, letting her head tip back in mock enjoyment, fully aware I was watching her every move.

The guy was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, hands resting comfortably at her waist, utterly clueless that his luck was about to run out. I caught the bartender's eye and ordered another round of tequila shots, then raised one glass, watching Anya from across the floor. She glanced up, and the moment her eyes met mine, she smirked, winked, and without a second thought, pushed herself away from the frat boy, leaving him stranded as she sauntered back to me, not once breaking eye contact.

By the time she reached me, I'd taken a lime wedge and held it lightly between my lips, waiting. She raised a brow, catching my silent invitation, and picked up the saltshaker with a mischievous glint in her eye. She cocked her head to the side, clearly expecting me to keep up. Wordlessly, I leaned down, offering her my neck.

With slow precision, she tapped a bit of salt onto my skin, then leaned in, her mouth brushing the spot as she licked it clean, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. I could feel the rush of warmth and that spark of fire as she straightened, tossed back the shot with practiced ease, then leaned in one last time to pluck the lime from my lips with her own.

She stepped back, licking the last of the salt from her lips, her eyes bright, and I couldn't help the smirk tugging at my mouth. "Satisfied?" I murmured, my voice just loud enough for her to hear over the beat of the music.

"Almost," she replied, her gaze challenging, daring me to take it a step further.

With a low chuckle, I set down the empty shot glass, looped my arm around her waist, and pulled her close, my voice low and full of promise. "Then let's fix that."

We sauntered over to the dance floor, Anya pressed close to my side, and there was our friend — the frat boy, still standing there, slack-jawed, eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and defeat. I couldn't help myself. As we passed him, I gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, letting the barest smirk flicker at the corner of my mouth.

"Now this," I drawled, catching his stunned gaze, "is how you dance with a woman."

The look on his face was priceless, a mix of awe and indignation as he slowly backed away, leaving the floor to us. I could feel Anya's shoulders shake slightly as she stifled a laugh, her eyes flashing with that bold, wicked glint that I was beginning to crave.

As the music thrummed around us, I pulled her in close, guiding her hips with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Every movement was intentional, every step a reminder to her — and anyone still watching — that she was mine. She followed effortlessly, her body molding to mine as we moved, her fingers slipping up to curl around the back of my neck.

Her breath was warm against my skin, and I could feel her pulse quicken under my hands, her heartbeat matching the steady beat of the music. She was so close that her movements, fluid and perfectly timed, sent little shivers through me, and I realized she was giving herself over to the moment entirely, letting herself be vulnerable in a way that made every guy in the room envious and every girl glance over, wondering what exactly was going on between us.

She laughed softly, a breathless sound that made my chest tighten. "Well, Tex, I have to say, you do know how to make a point."

"Oh, this?" I replied, pulling her even closer, letting her feel the steady strength of my hands on her waist, guiding her, making it clear that this was a dance only we knew. "This is just the warm-up."

And as the music dipped, our eyes met again, both of us silently daring the other to take things further. With every sway, every pull, it was like we were in our own world, untouchable, the rest of the bar fading into nothing.

"Ready to show me the main event?" she whispered, her voice teasing, breath hitching as I leaned in, brushing my lips against the soft skin just below her ear, feeling her shiver against me.

"Darlin'," I murmured, my voice low and rough with promise, "I've been waiting all night."

We tried to make our way out of the bar once more, fully intending to leave the night on that high note — but, of course, the universe had other plans. Weaving through the crowd, a guy appeared out of nowhere, stumbling right into our path.

"Anya?!" he said, eyes wide with disbelief. "Is it really you?"

Anya froze beside me, clearly caught off guard, and I felt her grip on my hand tighten. She blinked at him, trying to place the vaguely familiar face, but he went on before she could respond.

"It's me, Gavin. From Kent State! What the hell are you doing in New York? I thought you'd taken a job out in Washington!"

Oh, fantastic, I thought, suppressing the urge to sigh. This guy — Gavin — clearly thought he was talking to some version of Anya that belonged to his reality, not the Anya standing next to me, the one who was from a different reality altogether. My Anya, the one from Montreal, who just happened to find herself in my world, where she was supposed to be… well, dead.

She knew it, too. I could feel the exasperation radiating off her, a pointed sensation that made it abundantly clear she had no interest in engaging with this "plot twist." I resisted the urge to laugh, but just barely.

Anya glanced up at me, rolling her eyes as if to say, This is where things go off the rails, huh?

"Uh… Gavin," she said finally, her voice carefully neutral as she plastered on a polite, almost dismissive smile. "I think you might have me confused with someone else."

He blinked, momentarily thrown, but quickly recovered. "No, no way. I remember you perfectly. Same face, same… everything," he said, looking genuinely baffled now, his brow furrowing.

I felt Anya's frustration practically vibrating off her, like she was mentally willing him to take the hint and let her go. But when he didn't budge, I decided to step in, placing a firm hand on her lower back, subtly guiding her out of his line of sight.

"Look, Gavin," I drawled, putting on my best don't-push-your-luck tone, "Jen and I were just on our way out. Hate to break up your little reunion, but it's been a long night."

I pulled that name out of thin air, recalling that "Jen" was her friend from book club — the one who'd suggested they read the book about Heathcliff and The Duck's whirlwind romance. Yet, somehow, Anya had chosen me instead.

Anya's eyes flashed with barely contained amusement as she caught on to what I was doing, her lips twitching as she fought to suppress a laugh. I could feel her appreciation for the quick cover-up, along with that glimmer of humour at the irony of Gavin's cluelessness. And to drive the point home, I subtly projected a wave of polite compliance in Gavin's direction, making it clear, without words, that he was mistaken, that his "Anya" was indeed "Jen," just out with her boyfriend on a winter night.

He blinked, a little dazed now, the skepticism fading from his face as his mind accepted the idea that he'd just made an honest mistake. "Oh… right. Sorry about that," he stammered, scratching his head as he took a step back, looking between us in mild embarrassment. "You… you just look a lot like her."

"No problem," I replied smoothly, keeping one hand firm on Anya's back, urging him to keep moving. "Happens all the time."

And with that, we turned, leaving him to stand there, bewildered, as we slipped out into the cold night air.

Once we were a safe distance away, Anya let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking her head. "Jen, huh? Not bad, Tex. She'd be flattered you even thought of her."

"Oh, is that so, darlin'?" I drawled, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Was she also a member of Team Jasper?" I teased, fully aware that Anya was my most loyal — and loudest — supporter in her book club.

She snorted, giving me a look. "Well, she sure as hell wasn't a Team Edward fan, let's put it that way. But if you insist… she may have harboured a slight crush on McVampy."

I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. "McVampy, huh?" I asked, playing innocent even though I knew exactly who she was talking about. "You're telling me Jen was interested in my dear ol' father?"

Anya rolled her eyes, her mouth quirking into a grin. "They're both ER doctors, all cool-headed and heroic in crisis. Kindred spirits and all that." She shrugged, trying and failing to keep her tone nonchalant. "Besides, McVampy had that whole older-man charm, you know?"

"Older-man charm?" I repeated, barely containing my laughter. "You do realize he's technically 23, right? Weren't all the ladies in your book club 30 plus? Sounds like you're all cradle robbers."

Anya laughed, the sound bright in the cold night air. "True, but he's been around a bit longer than that, wouldn't you say? And I suspect Jen would've been a very dazzled, very compliant patient had she ever stumbled into his ER."

Her comment caught me off guard. I'd always known she'd been thinking about me when reading those books. But this? Knowing that her entire book club had been secretly fantasizing about Carlisle — the patriarch of my coven? I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head at the absurdity of it.

By the time we made it to the cabin, I barely had the door shut before she jumped up into my arms, her legs wrapped around my waist. I'm sure I heard the seams of her skirt rip apart from the strain. She crashed her mouth against mine. I was lucky we even made it inside. Any thoughts of taking her up to the bedroom were abandoned the second her arms were on my shoulders and her hands were through my hair pulling it tightly. My left hand was working its way up her skirt and my right was pressed against her back until I pressed her up against the back of the door, the night's thrill spilling over into one last rush.

When Anya started to grind against me, I realized that we may not even make it to the couch, and well, I was feeling adventurous...I broke our kiss slowly and felt her move her lips down my chin, along my jaw and nibbling on my ear.

Walking her towards the wall, into the cabin I murmured against her skin, "Anya…how attached are you to these tights or skirt?"

She pulled back slightly and smiled wickedly at me, "Oh Tex, it would be a fantasy come true," was her response before she went back to attacking my mouth with hot desperate kisses.

In turn, I slowly ripped her tights and skirt from her body. She paused from her kisses long enough to wiggle out of her top and toss it to the floor; I recognized it. The moment she walked down the stairs earlier in the evening and I was glad to see her once more remove it from her body. She was now pressed against the wall, wearing nothing but a sheer black bra and matching thong. Her heels kicked off at some point. While she had been busy with her shirt, I had been working on undoing my buckle and zipper.

I was not going to be easy on her. Well, I mean yes, she's human, I was still going to need to control myself somewhat. But I definitely was not going to warm her up. I could tell from the lust she was emoting my way and the heat and wetness from her core that she was more than ready for me. Without warning I thrusted up into her in one swift motion and my reward was her groaning into my mouth.

I swear her eyes rolled back into her head.

Well, I was on a roll now, "tell me Anya, when you read those books is this what you fantasized?" I drawled as I placed open mouth kisses along her neck and shoulders. "Me taking you against a wall like this?"

She moaned and said, "well I might have thought about you taking me on a desk, but this is even better."

I growled in response, "so what was your fantasy then?"

She tightened the grip of her legs around my waist, and pulled back long enough to grunt, "to rip my clothes off. Now stop talking and keep fucking me."

My woman needs to drink Tequila more often as there is nothing hotter than a woman commanding me. And I did just that, I pressed her tighter against the wall and thrusted into her, long languid thrust that I could tell were toying with her, from how she was grinding against me, desperate for friction.

"You know Anya, I should punish you for dancing with strange men tonight. You know how territorial vegetarians can get." I teased her as I rolled her nipple between my forefinger and thumb, my mouth trailing kisses along her collarbone.

"I'd like to see you try." I heard her moan.

Those were fighting words…

Later, tangled together on the couch, a lazy, satisfied smile played on her lips as she looked around the cabin, her voice soft and drowsy. "All this place is missing is a bearskin rug," she mumbled, barely keeping her eyes open. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

I chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Maybe next time, darlin'. But for now, I think we've done plenty of damage." We might have knocked some décor off the walls, the credenza behind the couch? Probably need to replace that as I might have ripped pieces out of it when I finally came, as I had been trying to hold myself off as long as possible as I teased Anya, having her chase her own release only to stop and switch things up.

She snorted, already drifting off, a contented smile lingering as she nestled against me. And as we lay there, the fire crackling low in the hearth, I couldn't help but think that a little tequila-induced bar hopping and grinding suited her just fine — and I didn't mind being the one to keep up with it.

It was by far the hottest sex we'd had to date.

Yes, we are definitely doing this again….