“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s Hayes. Your Hayes. You don’t have to know, it’ll come to you.”
“And you think this is a good idea?” I ask skeptically. This is usually the type of thing my best friend should warn me away from.
“If he were anyone else, I’d say no.” She nudges my butt forward, giving it a soft tap-tap when we get to the edge of the dance floor. “We’re all here, you’re safe. Let loose and have fun. Don’t worry about anything else.”
“This is starting to feel like a setup.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sing-songs as she skips back to the table where Jesse is. He won’t even look me in the eyes… This was definitely rigged.
“I believe this is your drink.” A short glass with a sugar rim appears in front of my face. I don’t have to look to know whose hand is holding it. The scars on his knuckles are a pretty dead giveaway, too.
“How do I know it isn’t drugged?” I ask as I grab the glass.
“My existence depends on you speaking to me, so rendering you unconscious would not benefit me in the slightest.”
I take a sip before I’m brave enough to face him. When I do, I wish I had downed the entire glass.
His subtle smirk and those crinkled blue eyes nearly melt me on the spot. How am I supposed to protect myself from someone who throws me so off kilter just by looking at me?
I take another sip from my glass because forming a sentence feels too complex right now.
He leans forward, and the liquor stills in my mouth, burning my tongue. “That is a very small tank top,” he whispers huskily, letting his breath skate over my shoulder.
“You don’t like my outfit?”
“Iloveyour outfit.”
My mouth parts, and I force it closed. “Are you flirting with me?”
His grin widens, and if it were the sun, I’d shield myself from the overwhelming intensity. I love his smile.
“Does it offend you?”
It coils up my insides into a million knots, twisting all that I know about myself, but… “No, it doesn’t offend me.”
It feels good.
Too good.
“I think I need to dance,” I blurt out. I’m not ready to talk, I don’t know if I have the right words to say, even if I was. But I know dancing makes me feel better.
His mouth upticks in another smile just before he downs his glass of amber liquor and sets it down with a clink on the table behind him. “Is this another hobby you picked up in college?”
“Dancing? I guess, since no one ever asked me to prom,” I say pointedly, staring at him over the rim of my drink as I take another sip.
“And I’ll regret that the rest of my life, dove,” he says earnestly, taking my glass from me.
He threads his fingers through mine, pulling me back to the center of the dance floor. Everyone around us shifts naturally as if the spot was reserved for us.
Or maybe an ex-con and a 5’8 woman in heels just have that effect on people.
“You’re going to dance with me?”
