Page 9

A blush crawls up her neck and into her cheeks. "You're staring."

I peer closer. "You're the one who keeps looking at me like you're trying to figure out my angle."

"Do you have one?"

"Everybody's got an angle, sweetheart. Mine's usually pretty simple, though." I twirl her away from me and bring her back in.

"Which is?"

"Have a good time. Don't hurt anybody. Go home happy."

"That's suspiciously wholesome for a man Carla just called a professional pain in the ass."

I laugh, and it comes out louder than I mean it to, drawing looks from several couples on the dance floor. "Carla's not wrong. And I never said the angle was for everyone. Just simple."

"What's so simple about it?"

"Depends on who you ask." It's true, but I'm not in the mood to unpack it on a dance floor with a woman I've known for under fifteen minutes. Instead, I ask, "What's your angle, Lainey?"

"I don't have one."

"Everybody's got one," I remind her.

She tips her head, considering. "Fine. Survive the night. Make sure Carla doesn't end up married to a stranger by sunrise. Go home in one piece."

"That's it? Survive the night? It's New Year's Eve. Don't you have a cowboy on your list of resolutions?"

"I didn't say that."

Heat coils low and tight in my chest.

Of course she's taken.

I try to keep my voice in the same tone, but it comes out stern. "So there's a cowboy back home?"

"I said I didn't say that. I also didn't say there wasn't."

Relief and panic both hit me. I tug her closer and lean into her ear. "You're gonna make me work for this, aren't you?"

"I don't know you well enough to make you do anything." She turns her head, and her mouth slightly curves. It's the kind of almost-smile that undoes a man faster than the real thing ever could.

The song winds down, and I don't let go of her hand when the couples around us start clapping and calling out to the band for one more.

She glances down at my grasp.

I watch her and take note of the exact second she decides not to say anything about it. Then I tell her, "One more."

"You said one dance, not three."

"The first one didn't count. Wasn't a whole song."

She laughs, quick and surprised, like it got away from her before she could stop it. I decide right then I want to hear that sound again before the night's over.

The band starts up, slower this time, and I pull her back in, close enough now that there's no pretending this is just dancing. Her hand rests lightly against my shoulder, and her heart beats where my palm sits at the small of her back, quick and a little unsteady, jolting my pulse.

I murmur in her ear, "For the record, I don't usually do this."

She takes a deep breath and asks, "Do what? Lie about how many dances you're owed?"