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Lyrics Pov

Atlanta, georgia

Sincere's hand brushed my waist before the beat even dropped.

That low bass from a Rod Wave song was starting to creep through the speakers, one of them ones that made the whole house hush for a second, like even the walls wanted to hear the pain. The lights were dim, red and gold from the cheap LED strips Marcus had tacked up around the ceiling, and the living room was packed shoulder to shoulder—so naturally, we ended up close.

Real close.

He didn't ask to dance. He just... stepped behind me, one hand low on my waist, the other holding his cup like he wasn't about to act up in front of everybody. I was facing forward, pretendin' I was still talkin' to Nyla, but the second I felt his body against mine?

My knees damn near filed a complaint.

"You sure you not shy?" I asked over my shoulder, smirking just enough.

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear when he said, "Only thing I'm scared of is you not backing up into me like I want."

Whew.

Whew.

"Boy—" I started, but then the chorus hit and I lost all focus. He pulled me in just a little, hand sliding to my hip like he owned it, and that's when I felt it—his chain against my back, his breath on my neck, and that pressure.

Yeah. That pressure.

I bit my lip and let myself move with the beat, slow, teasing. Just enough to let him know I wasn't scared either. He stayed quiet behind me, but the way his fingers pressed into my side told me everything I needed.

This wasn't no friendly neighborhood dance.

This was intentional.

We moved like that through the whole song. Like nobody else was there. Like we was dancing in secret, in the dark, where nobody could see but both of us knew exactly what was happening.

Then the song switched.

Something even slower.

Even nastier.

I turned to face him—on instinct. And baby, that look in his eyes?

It said trouble. But the kind that don't come with a warning label. The kind you want anyway.

We stood there, staring at each other, barely swaying.

"You always dance like that?" he asked, voice low and deep like it was meant to be said behind closed doors.

"You always whisper like you trying to get me in trouble?" I shot back.

He licked his bottom lip, smirking. "Trouble ain't the word."

Somebody bumped into me, and I stumbled forward—right into his chest. His arm came around me real smooth, like he wanted that to happen.

"You good?" he said.

I looked up at him from under my lashes, heart wild in my chest.

"Yeah..." I said, breath a little too short. "Just hot."

He leaned down just a bit. "You blaming me?"

I didn't answer.

Didn't have to.

Because then, right there in the middle of Marcus' loud-ass house party, with people dancing and cups clinking and hookah clouds floating around us—

He touched my chin. Just lightly. Tilted it up like he wanted to say something serious.