Page 55 of Felix

Emil does that thing where he looks at me for an extended beat, as if he can’t fathom the idea that I’m flirting with him. He can be so blunt and demanding at times, and yet subtlety seems to fly right over his head.

“I’d love a drink,” I tell him before he can get stuck too far inside his thoughts. “Jack and Coke?”

“Interesting choice,” he says, catching one of the server’s eyes and holding up his hand.

“Why’s that?”

“Bold but sweet,” he answers. “Kind of like you.”

I open my mouth but lose my tongue.

“Hey, Miles,” Emil says to the server who stops in front of us. His crotch ends up inches from my face.

“Hey, Felix,” the guys practically purrs. “And Vixen. Damn. Must be my lucky night. Nice to meet you, gorgeous.”

I shake Miles’s proffered hand, ignoring the up-and-down he gives me. “Pleasure.”

“Could we get two Jack and Cokes please?” Emil asks.

“You got it, cutie. Be right back with those.” Miles blows a kiss before walking away, hips swaying.

Emil, I notice, doesn’t watch him go.

“Are you going to dance with me tonight?” I ask.

He swallows, his light brown eyes looking darker than usual in the dim club. “I don’t dance.”

“No?” I cross my legs, and Emil’s eyes drop, following the motion. “Could I convince you?”

“You could likely convince me to do just about anything,” he mumbles.

I hum, liking that answer a lot, even though I probably shouldn’t. “I’ll go easy on you,” I tease.

“You’re capable of that?”

I bark a laugh, and Emil’s lips twitch into a grin.

It doesn’t take Miles long to return with our drinks. He sets them on the table in front of us, eyes lingering appreciatively before he heads off. As Miles collects empties from Alex and his boyfriends, Emil picks up his glass.

“To getting me to dance,” he says.

I grab my drink, clinking my glass against his. “To being brave and trying new things.”

Emil nods, but I don’t explain the words were meant more for me than him.

We take our time sipping our drinks, but once they’re gone, I raise an eyebrow. Emil stands with an exaggerated sigh. I grin, and the two of us head down to the dance floor. Emil gets a lot of attention as we move through the crowd, likely being recognized by those who follow Elite 8 Studios. People seem respectful, though, and I wonder if that’s because of the heavy presence of bouncers nearby.

We stop in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by people but in a bubble all our own. Emil looks uncomfortable and unsure, so I step closer, looping my arms over his shoulders and swaying us side to side.

“Um,” he says.

“Dance with me, Specs.”

His hands find my waist. “You want to dance like this?”

“Why not?”

“No one else is slow dancing,” he points out.

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