Drinks and Dancing

The bar was exactly the sort of place Sara expected a group of dads escaping camp for an evening to choose. Nothing fancy, nothing that required reservations or decent shoes. Just a crowded little place with cheap drinks, music loud enough that nobody had to make serious conversation, and a dance floor that became more populated as the night went on.

After days of camp schedules, dive rotations, equipment, kids, and constantly having somewhere she was supposed to be, Sara was more than happy to go.

Especially considering who had invited her. This was probably a terrible idea.

She went anyway.

By the time she arrived, several of the dads had already claimed a table. She recognized most of them from around camp, although she hadn't really talked to some of them beyond the usual conversations surrounding the kids and diving.

Tonight was immediately different.

Nobody was responsible for getting anyone to breakfast or making sure somebody had remembered fins. Tonight they were simply adults with alcohol.

He was there too. Of course he was.

He noticed Sara almost immediately. His eyes traveled over her slowly before that familiar smirk appeared.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Don't start."

He didn't say anything and somehow, that was worse.

The first round was pleasantly ordinary. Someone bought Sara a drink, then somebody else insisted the next round was his. Stories started making their way around the table, mostly about camp, children, disastrous family vacations, and the bizarre situations parenthood apparently inflicted upon otherwise functional adults.

Sara laughed more than she expected.

It was actually fun. That realization surprised her.

For all the intense sex and dismissive name that had happened between her and him over the previous couple of days, she'd barely interacted with him as a normal person. Sitting around a table with him and the other dads created the strange sensation of finally meeting someone she'd already gotten far too physically acquainted with.

The music eventually shifted into something with enough bass to make conversation pointless.

One of the dads looked toward the dance floor. "We're dancing."

Sara laughed. "Who's we?"

Apparently, we meant everyone.

Within a few minutes Sara found herself dragged onto the floor with three of them, laughing as one dad demonstrated moves that should probably have remained buried somewhere around 1998.

"No. Absolutely not."

"You know you remember this!"

"I remember it. That's why I'm telling you to stop."

Sara was still laughing when another dad caught her hand and spun her beneath his arm.

That was when she stopped caring whether she looked ridiculous.

She loved dancing.

And once she started, the accumulated tension of camp seemed to burn away with every song. She moved between the little group naturally, sometimes dancing opposite one of the dads, sometimes all of them together, sometimes simply closing her eyes and letting the music carry her.

Then he stepped in. He didn't ask.

Sara noticed him when his hand settled at her waist.

Her eyes opened.

There was that smirk again.

She shook her head, but she was already smiling. "You are so damn full of yourself."

He leaned closer so she could hear him over the music. "And you still came cocksleeve. Clearly you’re enjoying yourself." Sara didn't have a good answer for that.

So she danced.

This was different from the encounters they'd had at camp. There was no closed bunkroom or changing-room door, no illusion that the rest of the world had disappeared. They were surrounded by people. Two of the other dads were dancing barely an arm's length away.

Whatever private tension existed between them had to remain private.

That somehow made Sara even more conscious of him.

She could feel the occasional pressure of his hand against her as he slid his hand over her ass. When the music brought them together she could feel his hard cock pressing against her, followed by the deliberate distance when they separated again. Nothing anyone watching could call inappropriate. Nothing that wasn't perfectly ordinary between two adults dancing in a bar.

Except Sara knew better and from the look in his eyes, so did he.

Another dad interrupted them by catching Sara's hand. "My turn." Sara laughed as she was stolen away. "Apparently I'm communal property tonight." That earned a chorus of drunken objections and laughter from the group, and Sara disappeared back into the shifting little circle.

Song followed song. Drinks appeared whenever they wandered back toward the table. Somebody convinced Sara to do a shot she immediately regretted. One dad turned out to be surprisingly good at dancing. Another possessed enormous enthusiasm and absolutely no rhythm whatsoever.

And gradually Sara stopped thinking about tomorrow.

She wasn't thinking about wake-up calls.

She wasn't thinking about dive schedules.

She wasn't even thinking particularly hard about what had happened during the previous two days.

For a couple of hours she was simply Sara, slightly drunk, sweaty from dancing, laughing hard enough that her cheeks hurt, surrounded by a handful of equally liberated parents enjoying one night away from responsibility.

But every so often she would look across the dance floor.

And find the Dad already watching her.

Then that little smirk would return.

Sara knew perfectly well that his invitation to the bar hadn't really been about drinks and dancing. He'd made his intentions rather unmistakable earlier that afternoon.

She also knew she hadn't forgotten.

Judging from the increasing dampness between her legs and the sense of anticipation building in her, whenever their eyes met across the room, neither had her body.