It wasn’t with Jane, anyway, a little thought pings in my mind, before I ignore it like a text from that second cousin who’s always inviting me to her fake designer purse parties.
Brendan glances over and back. He lets out a breath. “Okay. Yeah. She’s okay.”
She’s definitely better than okay, but I appreciate him not extolling her physical virtues to me.
“So you should go ask her to dance.” Earlier today, we figured that spending the evening dancing with other people, maybe hanging out and chatting a bit, counts as a date.That’s the beauty of doing this at a con—the date itself is already set up, no need to pay for fancy dinners or come up with creative plans.
He shifts, his brow furrowed, and I can tell he’s super uncomfortable. And probably all the anxious.
I wish we didn’t have to do this. I know how stressful this is for him. But the very fact that he’s willing shows me how much he does want to get to a place where he can have a relationship. Maybe it’s not crazy passion, but I know he feelssomethingfor me more than just friendship. Maybe he believes he can one day feel a lot more.
It means so much that he wants to be with me enough to try.
“So I just go up and ask her to dance,” he says with the enthusiasm of a veterinarian about to inform the girl her dog is dead.
“Right. Introduce yourself and just straight-up ask her. No obnoxious pick-up lines—they’re totally useless. Girls hate them, and even though you’re cute enough to get away with it, it’ll only work against you.”
“Damn,” he says, his lips quirking up. “I was really looking forward to beingthat guy.”
I smile. Brendan would never be that guy.The only way he’d ever use an obnoxious pick-up line is as a total joke to make me laugh.
He glances down at his feet and then back up. “How about you? Who are you going to ask?”
He doesn’t sound particularly thrilled about this prospect, which I have to admit makes me happy, but maybe it’s still that he’s dreading his own task.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’ll find someone. Let’s get you dancing first.”
He gives me a dubious look, but then nods. We meet eyes for a long, lingering moment that sends a tingle down through my toes and an ache in, well, other parts of me.
Then he turns and heads over to the bar. I try not to look like I’m staring and sip more of my daiquiri, but I can’t help but watch as he approaches her.The way he carries himself is tense, and I chew my lip, hoping it goes all right.
A giggle threatens to escape me at how ridiculous it is that I’m hoping the guy I’m super crazy about doesn’t strike out with this random girl.
The girl smiles as he introduces himself, and they shake hands—a little awkward, but okay. She looks over at me and he says something, and she nods, her smile getting wider. She’s got a nice smile and a heart-shaped face. Probably he told her we’re just friends, like I told him to.
I let out a breath.That’s good, right? Good.
Then she laughs about something and nods, and he guides her to where everyone’s dancing.
Even better, I tell myself firmly.Fantastic.
I slurp at the bottom of my daiquiri. God, this would be so much better if it were alcoholic.
Now I’m trying not to creepily watch them dance. It’s a fast song, so it’s more like club dancing than the type we did at the wedding, but really, does she need to be so close to him? I mean it’s not grinding, exactly, but—
I force myself to look away and grab Emily’s drink, still not taken from the table. I’ll find someone to dance with when I’m done with this one. Well, maybe afterTate’s, too—no reason to waste these drinks.Then I’ll probably need to pee pretty bad. So after that.
I’m more than halfway throughTate’s virgin mojito and thinking maybe I need to move to the other side of the exhibit hall to keep myself from peeking over at Brendan and this girl—whose skirt is way shorter than I thought when she was sitting at the bar—when I look back and there’s a guy standing right behind me.
“Hi,” the guy says, smiling at me. He’s good-looking, probably in his early to mid-twenties. A little shorter than Brendan, a little stockier. He’s got blond hair that falls over his ears, mostly covered by a fedora, and he’s wearing nice jeans and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. “I’m Warren. I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you.”
“Oh, are you a fan of the show?”This happens a lot at cons. Usually I spend most of my time at functions like this answering questions about theSockwivesor whether Alec Andreas onStarving with the Starsis as hot in person (he is, but he’sAlec, so that detracts a bit).
He looks confused. “What show?”
“Oh, I—sorry, I thought you wanted to ask me about my show.” I laugh nervously. “Sorry, I’m not as self-involved as I sound.”
He grins. “Well, now I do. But no, I just meant I noticed you when you first walked in, but I wasn’t sure if you were with that guy. But since he’s off dancing, I figure . . .” He gives a little shrug.
