Page 14 of Floored (Frenched 3)
As if he were a gentleman, Charlie held the door open for me and stood behind me in line. “Your hair smells good.”
I looked at him over my shoulder, eyes narrowed. “Thank you.”
“What’s with the suspicious face?”
“The manners. The compliment. So unlike you.”
He laughed. “You knew Charlie Dwyer, the boy, Erin. You don’t know Charlie Dwyer, the man.”
“Ha. Charlie Dwyer, the man, is a nice guy, then?”
He hesitated. “Sometimes.”
Why that made my core muscles clench, I had no idea—well, I had an idea, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to advertise, so I turned around and faced the counter again before Charlie could see me blush.
Charlie insisted on paying for my pumpkin spice latte, for which I was grateful, since I was down to my last couple dollars. As always on a Saturday afternoon, Starbucks was crowded, and there were no available tables inside. “You want to sit outside?” he asked.
“I guess we could. If it’s not too cold.” I didn’t have a coat on, just a navy blue Detroit Tigers hoodie.
“You a baseball fan?” Charlie asked once we’d settled at our sidewalk table. It was cool and windy, temperatures in the low fifties, but the crisp air smelled like dead leaves, which sounds weird but is a scent I love.
“Yeah. I guess so. My dad used to take my brother and me to games when we were kids.” I took the lid off my cup so it would cool off faster. “What about you?”
“I like the Tigers. I’m a bigger Wings fan, though.”
“That’s right. You played hockey as a kid, didn’t you?”
He nodded, picking up his plain black coffee and taking a long swallow. “Yep. I still play, just for fun. And for exercise.”
I warmed my hands on the outside of my cup. “I’m a terrible skater but I know it’s really good for your legs. Your endurance too.”
“I haven’t had anyone complain about my endurance so far.”
I rolled my eyes but felt that little kick of excitement in my belly again. “Of course not.”
“You’re a terrible skater?”
“Yeah. I mean, I haven’t been on the ice in years, but I remember being pretty bad. As a dancer, I like feeling sure of my feet on the floor, you know? Ice is too slippery!” I laughed. “But it’s OK. I’m sure a lot of good skaters wouldn’t be good dancers.”
“Oh, I’m an awesome dancer.” Charlie took another sip of his coffee, so I couldn’t read his face, but I gaped at him. Was he really that conceited?
“Shut up. Are you serious?”
He lowered the cup to the table and I saw the teasing smile. “No. I’m not a dancer. But I’ve got good rhythm.”
My neck warmed, and I hoped the flush wasn’t showing above my hoodie. “I’m sure you do.”
He leaned forward. “Are you? Maybe you should test it.”
I crossed my legs. “No.”
Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “Suit yourself.”
God, that slow smile. It was starting to get to me. “But you could come to my adult class sometime.”
“You teach adults too?”
“Yes. You live around here?”
