She gives me an exasperated look. “Because I shouldn’t have to. I wish he’d just take the hint, but no, of course the onus is going to fall on me to make it obvious. ThenI’mgoing to be the bitch when he gets his feelings hurt, even though he’s the one who refuses to take no for an answer, and when it’s awkward as shit next time I have to go down to the media office for a permit, it’ll all be my fault.”
“Onus?” I repeat before I think better of it. My mouth twists as I realize I’ve given away the fact that I don’t know the word. I hate admitting when I don’t know words.
She beams at me, and I swear my pulse stutters. “It means responsibility. Fuck. He’s coming over here.”
I follow her eye-line to see the dickhead is, in fact, coming over here. Before I can have a say in the matter, she throws back the rest of her wine and grabs my hand, dragging me from my corner.
“What are you doing?” I demand, but I don’t pull away. I let her drag me, even though she’s moving through the crowd like a bull in a china shop and people are staring.
“Let’s dance, Falkenberg,” she calls over her shoulder.
Those three words kill my interest more effectively than thoughts of my grandmother’s smörgåstårta recipe ever could.
Fan i helvete.
Chapter 20
Freddie
Falkenberg’s suit fits him perfectly, slim in the leg but not too slim, the jacket accentuating his broad shoulders, chest and the trim cut of his waist. He looks expensive in a way I don’t normally like, with the statement watch on his wrist and his waxed hair slightly out of place like he’s been pulling at it.
I force myself to reach for his hand. His skin is warm, and for some reason my heart falters, my eyes snapping up to his. The shadow in his eyes makes me blush.
It doesn’t mean anything. A guy like him doesn’t need my father’s money and he’d never consider a slob like me. I just need Sam to fuck off. The guy has been following me around like the personified STI inIt Followsall night. He took things beyond the workplace when he started reacting to all of my Fotogram stories last week. I should never have let him follow me in the first place, but I was just trying to be kind. Give men an inch and they take a mile.
I should stick to being a bitch.
Attendees shuffle out of our way as I drag Falkenberg to the dance floor. I’m not too tipsy to notice the handful of raised eyebrows we receive, but I can’t be bothered so long as it gets Sam off my back. Besides, Falkenberg owes me, considering how difficult he’s made my life lately.
We reach the dance floor, and I force myself to face him. Where I’d expected to see abject disdain, even anger in his expression, I see only uncertainty. Maybe even fear. For once, he’s out of his element. Just like that, my embarrassment evaporates.
The DJ is playing something slow, but nothing painfully romantic.I briefly catch Sam’s eye over Falkenberg’s shoulder, which makes me step closer to the team captain, placing my free hand on his lapel and interlocking the fingers of my other hand with his. He’s a head or more taller than me and this close, I have to tilt my chin up to look at him. Our eyes meet, and I watch as his features twist into a familiar glower, which I now suspect is a defense mechanism. Standing this close, I can feel the warmth of his body just a few inches from mine.
“Don’t tell me our team captain is afraid of a little dance,” I say feebly.
“I hate dancing,” comes his flat reply.
“You’re dancing right now.”
“Hardly,” he says. I laugh. His lack of rhythm is apparent as he tries to follow my lead, but I don’t care. It’s kind of endearing. We’re always on his turf, and this time we’re on mine.
“You’re right. I thought athletes were supposed to be coordinated,” I say.
“How easily you forget our first practice,” he remarks.
That snatches the grin off my face. How could I forget? Especially when his same fresh, piney scent is once again flooding my senses, this time without the underlying sweat, but bringing back memories of how he carried me all the same. The memory sends a rush of heat to my core.
“That’s what I thought.” He peers down at me, an inkling of that familiar arrogance returning to his expression, and I think I detect a hint of licorice on his breath. There’s something else in his gaze though, too. Curiosity, or maybe apprehension. The lights shift, and an array of blue, red and green light catches in his pale eyes.
I blink away before I stare too long.
“Did you see Sam’s face?” I whisper, letting my gaze trail over the crowded room instead.
“Yes, as well as everyone else’s.”
I look back at him. “It’s just one dance, Falkenberg. I’m sure it’s not gonna ruin your carefully curated hard-to-get, hostile persona.”
His mouth twists downward as he follows in step with me. “I’m not hard-to-get.”
