“I don’t dance,” I mutter, already stepping back. “I’m sure you can find someone else.”
Her smile widens as she rests her hand on my bicep. “But what if I only want to dance with you?”
“Then you are going to be disappointed,” I say, pulling away.
She tilts her head. “Come on, Ryan. Just one song.”
I shake my head. “No.” Squaring my shoulders, I move farther out of her reach. “Go back to your friends. I’m sure one of them will take you up on your offer.”
She studies me for a moment, as if she’s deciding how far she can push me tonight.
“Fine. Your loss.” Without another word, she spins and heads back to rejoin her friends. Easy and unbothered, as if she hadn’t completely rattled me.
Blowing out a long breath, I pick up my beer bottle and take a couple of quick swallows to soothe my dry throat. I need to leave. Now.
Weaving through the throng of people, I rush towards the door. Unfortunately, there is no way to completely avoid her table without using the emergency exit and causing a scene. As I approach, she kicks off her shoes and stands on a chair, wobbling a little.
“I love this song,” she shouts at the top of her lungs, swirling her hips, hands in the air.
And then—because of course it’s just my luck—she wobbles too far to the left, and the chair slips out from beneath her.
Instinctively, I lunge forward, catching her as she topples backwards. Laughing loudly, completely unfazed, she wraps her arms around my neck. Her body is warm against mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
“Are you okay?” I ask, carefully lowering her to the floor. “You could have killed yourself up there.”
“I knew you wanted to dance with me, Pretty Boy,” she sings, still grinning widely.
Without a word or a backward glance, I turn and walk out the door into the cool night air.
That woman is the definition of trouble.
One
Present day
“Watch where you’re going.” I hear the gruff voice of the man wearing a tailored suit who just ran straight into me. Gasping, I look down at my shirt, momentarily stunned. Thanks to that shoulder check, I’m now wearing an iced coffee that I was looking forward to drinking.
Resisting the urge to apologize for something that wasn’t my fault, I step away from the miserable man, who has disdain written all over his face. He appears to be unscathed, so I don’t know what his problem is.
“Excuse me, but you’re the one who ran into me,” I defend myself, shaking the dripping coffee from my hand.
“Whatever,” he snorts as he moves around me and hurries down the sidewalk. Scooping the empty cup from the ground, I drop it into a nearby garbage can and continue walking to work.
Perfect, just perfect. This is one more thing on an already shitty morning. I slept through my alarm and had to rush to get ready. A shower and breakfast weren’t even a possibility. Ileft my wallet, and what little money I have, at home and had to ask Aunt Maggie to put the coffee on my ever-growing tab at her bakery. She doesn’t care, but I do. How do I not even have a couple of loonies or toonies rolling around the bottom of my bag?
The shop assistant April’s ice-blue eyes widen as I walk through the door of Inkfluence, the tattoo studio where I work.
“Oh my God, what happened to you?” she asks, rushing to greet me.
“Some guy plowed into me.” I sigh as I place my purse on the counter. Grimacing, I pull the cold, wet fabric away from my stomach.
“Gross,” she says, crinkling her nose as she inspects the damage
“No kidding,” I mutter with a frown.
“I have a clean shirt in my bag if you need something to change into.” Gliding back to the other side of the counter, she rummages under her desk and pulls out a white T-shirt.
“Thank you.” Grateful, I take it from her outstretched hand. “I don’t have time to drive home and change before my client gets here,” I say, peering up at the clock above her head.
