Brandon’s eyes hold mine captive as he does the whole sexy-backward walking thing. “When this is all over, try not to fall in love with me, k?” Brandon plants himself in front of the semi-circle and gives me a nod.
I push play, and a punchy nineties song spills out of the overhead speakers. My jaw drops as I watch the massive man break into a flawlessly choreographed routine. And he’s not bad, either. He’s got rhythm and is oddly light on his feet.
Thankfully, the moves are zero-percent suggestive, otherwise we might have had a few failed pace-makers. A stunned laugh escapes me as Brandon drops into a breakdancing move. The man has the audacity to freeze mid-pose and throw a wink at me.
I fan both hands toward my face like I just can’t get enough, and he laughs. He ends the performance in an absurd gangster pose, and I can’t help but whoop and cheer along with the elderly.
His face is flushed, but he’s unleashing a crooked grin at the crowd. They’re eating it up. Then he blows me a kiss, and I pretend to catch it.
What can I say? The man’s got moves.
Brandon pulls a wad of one dollar bills out of his leather jacket and pays the street vendor. The soft pretzel he hands me steams in the chilly night air, and the warmth of it seeps through my gloves. I practically moan as I take a bite, thankful for the salvation of calories that will prevent Brandon from witnessing me turn into a hangry monster. We turn and walk along twinkly festive storefronts.
“Sooo…where’d you get all thoseone dollar bills, Mr. Roberts?”
Brandon’s laugh is deep and rich. “Not where you’re thinking. I work at a restaurant, and people always tip more around the holidays.”
I nod, take another bite of my soft pretzel, and swallow. “So you just moonlight as an exotic dancer, then?”
Brandon swings in front of me and walks backward with teasing dimples. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you werewishingI was a dancer. Why? You need someone to spice things up?”
I can’t help but laugh, “No.You’ll have to find someone else to pawn your services on. But if I ever need someone to perform a secondhand boy-band routine, I’ll know who to call.”
Brandon’s smile is white against his tan skin, but he claps a massive hand to his heart. “Secondhand? You wound me.”
My pretzel is soon gone, and Brandon hands me his. I take it shyly before stuffing another bite into my mouth.
Brandon chuckles. “Looks like I gotta keep you fed. Good to know.”
We continue to walk.
“Where did you learn that routine anyway?” I ask.
“Tuck and I performed it for our sixth-grade talent show.” He sighs like the fate of the world lies on his tattooed shoulder. “I guess that’s when the girls first fell in love with me.”
I snort. “And it was all downhill from there? Aww, you poor pretty lady’s man.”
He stops short on the sidewalk, and I almost run into his chest. The cocky glint beneath his thick lashes makes my left knee bounce again. I tear my gaze from his and readjust the belt on my red peacoat. When I finally muster enough courage to meet his eyes again, he’s much closer.
“I knew you thought I was pretty.” His minty whisper clouds in theair and caresses my cold cheek. “But I’m still nowhere as pretty as you.”
I try to fight from blushing. “Is that what you say to all your dates? I mean, after you show off your dance moves in the retirement home?”
Brandon doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest, and I can’t deny that I find his confidence very attractive.
“But I’m guessing that bachelorette party wasn’t on the agenda for tonight?” I say. “Pray tell, whatwassupposed to happen in that event center?”
Brandon looks at me like I’m simultaneously annoying and amusing. He makes a show of silently rejoining my side and offering his elbow. I thread my sleeve through his leather jacket and try to ignore how his bicep flexes against my arm.
“So you’re just not gonna tell me?” I ask.
He sucks in his hollow cheeks before blowing a long breath into the frigid night. “It was supposed to be a romantic dinner with candles and stuff. Things just got… miscommunicated.” Brandon takes my empty pretzel wrapper from me and tosses it in a trash can.
A laugh spills across my cold lips. “How in the world did a candlelit picnic get swapped for a grandma’s bachelorette party?”
“Tuck’s cousin’s family owns the event center. When they don’t have bookings, sometimes I’ll bribe Tuck’s cousin to go set up a candlelit picnic. They must have booked the space and forgotten to tell me. And now that punk owes me my money back.”
“So, the candlelit picnic is a routine thing, then? For whatever girl you’re seeing?”
