Page 84 of Don't Be in Love

“It was a nudge, not a kick,” I argued.

“Says the one with a working shin.”

“You’re a baby.”

“Am not. You’re stronger than you look,” he defended himself. “And I’d know because you try to lead when we dance.”

“I like to think I’m good enough to lead, Mr. Blackwood.”

“And I’d let you lead me wherever you’d like, Ms. Adorno. Maybe without a stiletto in my leg though.”

“I’ll try harder next time.”

“Next time it is.” He nodded.

In my heels, I could see him so much better. Sitting across from him three times a week in the dim light of the backroom removed any chances of taking in the true brown of his eyes and the stubble he consistently shaved above his lip.

“What are you thinking about?” His head had a slight tilt.

The shape of your brow. The scar close to your scalp. The broadness of your shoulders. The way you say my name. The light that’s cupping the right side of your face.

“The word for when artists depict light in a painting,” I responded.

His brow rose. “Chiaroscuro.”

“Of course you’d know that.”

“Of course that’s what you’re thinking about right now.” He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, what are you thinking about?”

“You don’t actually want to know. You’re just asking because I asked.”

“True, but now I want to know.”

“I’m thinking about how you’ve stepped on my foot three times already.”

“No, I haven’t.” I backed up anyway.

He pulled me back in. “Maybe I lied.” He winked.

My knees were weaker than the spine of a two-hundred year-old book. The only way I know how to play it off was opening my mouth. “You’re derailing the conversation. What’s on your mind?”

“Why the price of coffee has increased so much lately.”

“Dorian.”

“Adelaide.”

His eyes met mine in a moment of thought. They were dark. Conflicting. As if he hoped he could just pass the words swirling around in his mind through a look rather than voicing them. Then he paused on my mouth and regret instantly hit my throat.

I stared at his full lips, debating the consequences of kissing him.

Get him out of your system, my personal group of therapists had said during book club.

Maybe there was some type of truth to that. The last time we had kissed was four weeks ago and I already needed another fill.

“Are they looking at us now?” he asked.