“There it is,” he says softly.
“What?”
“That laugh.”
I look at him properly then, and he’s smiling, but not in the smug, playful way he usually does. This one is quieter. Warmer.
I break eye contact first.
Obviously.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter.
“And yet you keep talking to me.”
“That could still change.”
“Sure,” he says easily.“But it hasn’t.”
Before I can come up with something cutting and clever, Jake brushes past us. He is holding a tray of drinks and nods at me like I’m some kind of queen he owes allegiance to.
Blake watches him go. Then looks at me. Then back at Jake.
“Did you really make him get you champagne again?”
“I said I was thirsty.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His mouth twitches.“No. Just… effective.”
I take a slow sip of my drink and feel oddly pleased.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks suddenly.
I almost choke.
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“I like to be decisive.”
“You danced in fuzzy bunny slippers to Dolly Parton in your brother’s apartment. I know you dance.”
“That was private dancing. Entirely different sport.”
“So I should wait until you’re wearing slippers?”
“You should stop trying to gather data on me like I’m a science experiment.”
“Too late,” he says.“You’re fascinating.”
That should be cheesy. It should be. Instead, I feel heat crawl up my neck. He notices, because of course he does.
“You’re blushing.”
