Naughty or Nice by Eric Jerome Dickey Page A

came up. San Diego looked like that kind of town, where Mayflower descendants had Amistad fetishes, and vice versa. She was drunk as hell, whoo hooing, in full tourist mode, taking pictures of everybody and everything.
    She laughed and pointed the camera at me. “Smile.”
    I gave her the “move bitch” face. “Do you mind?”
    â€œI’m from out of town. Just trying to have a little fun.”
    I ignored her. Turned my back and let her rude and drunk ass photograph other people.
    She was trying to out-dance me, but my ethnic pride refused to let me be out-danced.
    Carpe said, “Damn. You are working it.”
    I laughed. “I haven’t even warmed up yet.”
    The camera flashed, that drunken girl taking pictures of herself, the guy she was dancing with, then everything. The brother she was with was all over her, holding her shoulders, helping her stagger off the dance floor. Looked like she was heading to the bathroom to toss her cookies.
    I shook my head, wiped the sweat from my brow, went back to my own fun.
    Atomic Dog came on and the room went wild, sent the house into freak-me mode. With the sensual moves and sexual energy, with all the whites and Mexicans and Asians in the crowd, it was like being in the middle of one big international orgy. I joined in, put my hands on my thighs, backed my pride and joy up into Carpe, my backside rolling up against his groin.
    My date was with me, slapping my ass, dry humping me to the beat, rocking me booty song after booty song. With every touch we were opening a door I didn’t want to close. When the booty songs faded, I ran my fingers through the sweat on my skin. He stayed behind me, held me close, dancing up against me, the kind of dancing that was more sex than anything else, his fingers moving up and down my body. And I felt him. Felt his heat and desire to live inside me harden against my ass. Iclosed my eyes, pressed against him, and danced my angst away.
    I turned around, faced him, wondered how he moved in bed, how long it lasted.
    He took my hand, rubbed my skin with his. My nipples were hard, aching.
    I swallowed my own fire. “Let’s change the temperature.”
    â€œOkay.”
    I touched his face, tiptoed, and we kissed. Not long, just enough tongue exchange to let us know where this might be going. It was a nervous kiss, a good kiss, slow and deliberate, his tongue feeling and tasting damn good, the kind of kiss a woman wants to fall into.
    We stopped and stared at each other.
    Then he let his tongue dance with mine.
    I wiped my lipstick away from his mouth and we danced like we owned the city.
    My problems were fading away and I was at Disneyland. My other life didn’t matter anymore. Livvy didn’t exist, only Bird. I loved the way Bird was feeling.
    We danced until last call. Then sipped on water until the lights came on. I was tipsy, sweaty, tired, feet hurt, but not ready for Disneyland to shut down the ride.
    He picked up our coats and led me through the thinning crowd.
    He said, “It’s after two.”
    â€œAlready?”
    It was the end of the night and we both knew what was next.
    With sweat drying on my skin, the night air felt cooler. The nightlife was closing down, but people were hyped, trying to couple up and find their own one-on-one after-party to go to.
    We held hands all the way back to my SUV. He was parked next to me. We stood between our vehicles and kissed some more. Kissed and he rubbed my breasts.
    â€œWhat you said . . .” I let my warm words hang on thecoolness of the night breeze, then shifted, didn’t know what to do with my hands. “Did you want to—?”
    â€œEnd the night with a smile on your face?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Our tongues danced again, this time longer. He rubbed against me, sent me a hard question. I rubbed back, sent him my wet answer. Then we stopped kissing, held each other, got ready to figure out how we were going