“Yes,” she says with a laugh. “But I’m not sure if it’s clever commentary or if I’m just bringing it upon myself.”
“Scariest costume I’ve seen all night.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Nick.”
“Valerie.” She’s tall, almost as tall as he is, with incredibly toned legs and short blond hair. If they were somewhere he feels more comfortable—his trivia night, for example—he’d probably be too intimidated by her. Maybe it’s the feeling that he has nothing to really lose here drawing out his confidence.
As the song changes, he nods his head toward the dance floor. “Do you want to dance?” he asks, and she smiles and gives him her hand.
Huh. Maybe he isn’t so bad at this after all.
As they sway to “Werewolves of London,” he’s too aware of Ramona in his peripheral vision, watching him.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Nick,” Valerie says when the song ends, after three minutes of pleasant chatting. “And I hope I’m not being too presumptuous. You seem really sweet, but it’s a little too soon for me. I just got divorced a few months ago, and I’m not sure I’m ready to get back out there yet.”
“Me too—newly divorced, still figuring out how this whole thing works.”
Her face softens. “It’s not easy, is it?”
“No,” he agrees. “But I hear it’s supposed to get easier. Any day now.”
“Have a great night,” she says earnestly, giving his hand a squeeze.
Ramona is waiting to pounce after they part ways. “So? Did you get her number?”
“You arerelentless,” he says. “And impatient.”
“Thank you for noticing.” She gives the bridge of his glasses a playful tap. “Well, before you see her again…your dancing could use some work.”
God, why does he like the way she ribs him? “It’s a good thing I don’t have a huge ego, because I’m pretty sure you would have reduced it to rubble by now.”
Her jaw drops in mock offense. “I’m trying to help you! I didn’t say you were a terrible dancer. Just a little…stiff. Here.”
And if anything could make him stiffer, it’s this: Ramona Wilder in her schoolgirl costume, tugging him back to the dance floor. Sliding one hand into his, resting the other on one shoulder, while his free hand settles at the curve of her waist.
“Loosen your shoulders. There,” she praises as he does his best to relax them, unaware they’d even been tight. “That’s better.”
A month ago, he wouldn’t have been able to conceptualize this: dancing with Ramona Wilder at a Halloween party. Despite the way his pulse has kicked up a few notches, he’s more at ease than when he was dancing with Valerie.
“I’m not seeing her again, by the way,” he says. The music is so loud, he needs to dip his head to speak right into her ear. “Valerie. She said she wasn’t ready to date.”
He’s not sure if he’s imagining Ramona’s sigh of relief. Or the way she says, with zero sympathy: “Oh. That’s too bad.”
But he’s certain he’s not imagining the way she inches closer to him, her hips grazing his. One hand straightening out his superego cape.
He can smell that dark floral perfume and the sweetness of her shampoo, and beneath it something uniquely her, something that makes him want to draw her right up against him.
Friends.They are just friends.
“How’s this?” he asks with a palm on her lower back, right where her blouse is tucked into her skirt, which feels safer than her waist.
“Good. Much more natural.”
The song changes to something slow and sensual, with the kind of bassline that rumbles low in his belly, and yet neither of them moves apart.
“So why don’t you date?” he asks, cursing himself when his voice comes out a little rough. “You said you’ve been single since you retired. Why aren’t we workshopping your profile or finding you someone to dance with?”
“Because I’m working on myself. And focusing on my education.”
“How are your other classes going?”
