Page 69 of Blackwood

She spins out like she’s on fire. The crowd eats it up.

“Next, the heartthrob in teal. My baby, and heiress to the Rosethorne Mansion,Haley Rosethorne!”

Haley struts out, pure sex and power in motion. Every step hits like a beat drop, her gaze locked and lethal. One hand drags slowly down the curve of her waist, the other flicks her ponytail over one shoulder like a challenge. Someone in the front row chokes on their drink.

“Goddamn, baby,” Knox says fanning his face and smiling at Haley.

“And last but never fuckin’ least,” Knox says, voice curling with heat. “The one who keeps us all on our toes. The Problem Child herself,Bella Blackwood.”

I walk out into that spotlight like it’s my birthright. Purple bodysuit glittering, heels slicing the floor. Ellie and Haley fall into formation beside me. We don’t just dance, we dominate.

The Trifecta has arrived.

♥♥♥

The music fades out in a rush of cheers and whistles. The floor practically vibrates from the aftermath.

Knox’s voice reverberates through the speakers, smooth and hyped. “How about those girls?”

The crowd roars.

He laughs into the mic, loving every second of it. “Wexley’s finest. Ellie Whitmore, Haley Rosethorne, and Bella Blackwood. The Trifecta, baby.”

Whistles. Applause. Someone howls from the upper balcony.

Knox grins. “But don’t sit your pretty asses down just yet,” he says, spinning back to us. “Because it’s Cinco de Mayo and we’re just getting started.”

Then he pauses, hand cupping his ear dramatically.

“Girls, you ready?”

We nod. But before we can move, “Wait, wait, wait…” Knox throws up a hand like he’s about to stop traffic. “I’ve got an idea! Let’s crank up the heat.”

Knox twists a dial and suddenly the room is filled with color. Pink. Teal. Purple. Matching the lights to our bodysuits.

“Let’s hear it for the men who help make The Trifecta unstoppable. Give it up for your favorite dance partners. The ones who hold it down, flip it up, and keep up with every twist: Josh, Sam, and Drake!”

The crowd loses it as the guys emerge from the wings, grinning, confident, and matching our energy stride for stride. Josh takes his place beside me, hand brushing mine. Sam steps behind Ellie, already syncing with her rhythm. Drake shoots Haley a wink as he slides into place.

Knox’s voice lowers, teasing and electric. “This next one? It’s not just a dance. It’s foreplay with footwork. Hold onto your drinks, Wolves, because things are about to get real sexy.”

“Hey Baby” by Pitbull starts. The music pulses low and deep, thick with Latin heat. Josh’s hand slides around my waist, fingers splaying against my lower back like he owns it. My leg hooks over his hip, heels clicking as we move in perfect rhythm—chest to chest, breath to breath.

Ellie’s already spinning, hair flying as Sam dips her so low the crowd gasps. Drake catches Haley mid-turn, their bodies locking in a slow grind that oozes danger and desire. Every move is sharp, intentional, and way too filthy for a school-sponsored event.

But this is The Row, and at The Row? Rules don’t apply.

We twist. We drop. We flip. Perfectly in sync.

The guys lift us like we weigh nothing, pressing us tight before spinning us away, only to yank us right back in. Heat builds in the space between our bodies, in the friction of hands sliding down curves and hips snapping to the beat.

And right as Pitbull drops that line about Dade County, the other four freeze in place.

Our turn.

Josh slides one hand up my thigh, the other gripping my waist as he spins me into him, fast and fluid, like we’ve danced this dance a hundred times in another life. Our chests collide, breath catching, but the rhythm doesn’t break.

His lips brush my cheek, not a kiss, just a tease. I hook my arm around the back of his neck, and then we’re moving. Fast feet. Faster hips. Every twist a dare, every step a challenge. I roll my body with sharp, sultry precision, grinding down with a flick of my hips, snapping back into a tight cha-cha pivot. He dips me so low my hair nearly touches the floor before pulling me up with a force that makes my thighs clench.