Page 161 of Playing With Fire

“You’re as bad as Bishop.”

“I manage a bar. You need to hydrate after all that tequila so you don’t wake up with a raging headache.”

“Thanks.” I take the bottle and down half the water. The cold liquid is refreshing. The steady beat of a familiar song starts pulsing and I grab Avery’s hand, “let’s go.”

“The student has surpassed the teacher.” She proudly declares as I drag her to a packed dance floor and we start moving our bodies to the music. This song has a whole new meaning lately. No smoke with no fire… it’s nice to play pretend… I wanna feel something.

Besides splitting that pitcher of margaritas, I’ve had three drinks. Maybe four. Definitely three. But they helped take the edge off of the conference disappointment that had been sitting heavy in my chest. Among other things.

“I think I like modern Elizabeth Bennet.” I pull her close and admit with a giggle, thinking about the amount of cleavage Avery has unleashed upon Chicago putting me in this corset.

“I knew you would.” She yells over the music.

Avery pulls back and suddenly stops dancing, her attention moves over my shoulder.

“Um.”

“What?”

“Looks like your Mr. Darcy just arrived.”

My entire body knows who she means before I turn.

Bishop.

Of course. He isn’t dressed up. Neither is Mercer.

Jeans. Black sweater that is molded to his perfect body, damn him. Damp blond hair like he showered at the arena and didn’t bother doing anything with it afterward.

His dark gaze moves through the room until it stops on me. Even from twenty feet away, I see his entire body go still and mine starts putting on a show thanks to a little liquid courage.

Avery leans closer. “I think he likes your costume.”

“I doubt that.”

“He looks pissed.” Now she’s the one giggling as she moves along with me.

“No.” I watch Bishop start toward us. “That’s his thinking face.”

“His thinking face wants to murder your outfit.”

“It’s not the outfit’s fault.”

“No. Your boobs are definitely to blame.”

“Not helping.”

“Wait, why is Nolan Mercer with him?” She stops dancing again.

“Looks like it’s your lucky night.” I tease her.

Bishop reaches us. His eyes stay firmly on my face.

“Baby Becks.”

“Ken.” I slow my rhythm but don’t stop moving entirely.

His jaw flexes.