Page 3 of Don't Be in Love

“You can’t,” he said in a slight panic.

I blew out a breath. “To think I thought the guys in Boston were stubborn.”

“I’m not some perv. Do I look like one?” he asked, slightly horrified.

“Depends.” I made an effort to look at his hand on my wrist.

He dropped my arm instantly. “I have a bet going with my mate over there.” He gestured to someone sitting at a table across the room. He looked just as tall, but other than that, he was the complete opposite of his companion. Darker eyes. Lighter skin. Silver hair the color of the first snow in New England. “He thinks you’d say no to a dance with me.”

“Well, it looks like your friend won,” I replied, I turned to grab Mia—

“So you’re saying no?” he asked, touching my elbow. He smelled like fresh espresso and sandalwood, a piece of his dark hair dangled over his left brow.

“It’s really not my thing.”

“Can’t dance?” he asked.

“Oh, I can dance,” I argued.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he contended.

“Are you trying to bait me into winning this bet?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Is it working?”

“Possibly.”

“What if I bought you a drink after?” he asked.

“Well, you should’ve just started with that. And I want two drinks.”

“Two drinks it is.” He put his hand out for me to take, his sleeve retracting to expose a tattoo on the inside of his arm.

What was I doing?

It’s called having fun, my subconscious argued.

Well, this was a horrendous attempt at trying to have fun. Fun wasn’t supposed to have uncalloused hands, pretty eyes, and back muscles that were apparent through his shirt. Fun was supposed to be whimsical charms hanging off a new purse and the taste of a thick vanilla frappe on a movie night.

Too late now!

I followed him through a sea of people where the music flowed, and pairs danced.What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I do—

I was pulled into his chest, and we were dancing. Chest to chest, hips against hips, his hand on my back and mine in his palm. It pulled the air right out of my chest.

“Do you do this often?” I asked.

“Dance with beautiful women?”

“Make bets to coerce women into dancing with you?”

“I usually don’t have to coerce women.”

“You didn’t answer thebetpart of the question.”

“What do you want to know next—my home address?”

“I’m sure that’s easy enough to find online, especially if you’re seeing women this often,” I explained.