Page 80 of Make Me Want it Too

It started during the salad course when Zayne noticed one of Dane’s exes followed him on Instagram earlier that day. Escalated when he started pointing out how the ex was like-bombing and commenting on everything going back months during the cheese course. And hit its peak as the main course was being served when Zayne ran off after Dane refused to let him see his private messages.

By dessert, they were both back and had made up, the ex in question blocked on every social media platform.

Speaking of dessert, it’s a dark chocolate molten cake with a fresh raspberry compote, and as it’s served, the orchestra comes out and starts setting up their instruments.

I decline the cake, even though it looks wonderful. I didn’t account for it with my insulin earlier, and this dress is skintight and I’m already afraid I’m going to burst a seam.

Still, I watch Wood sink his fork into his cake with a longing sigh.

“Do you want a bite?” Wood asks, chuckling.

I tear my eyes away from his plate and shake my head.

“See,” he says, scooping a big, fudgy bite of cake onto his fork, “you’re saying no, but the way you’ve been watching me eat is saying something else entirely.”

“I have not,” I say, trying to hide how much I’m salivating.

“Just one bite?” He offers it to me.

“You’d share your cake with me?”

“Mace, I will order dessert at every meal just to be able to give you a bite. Or all of it. Whatever you want.”

My chest feels too tight, like I can’t breathe. It’s probably just the dress. Definitely, probably.

I lean forward, opening my mouth. I look up at Wood as he slides his fork in my mouth, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips as the rich chocolate hits my taste buds.

The violins begin playing, softly in the background, hopefully masking the sound of my moan as I finish the bite.

But the way Wood is watching me, eyes half lidded, makes me think he heard it.

Bex and Jake are the first ones to the dance floor, others trickling in after.

Wood leans in, our shoulders touching. “Dance with me?”

“Yes.” The word escapes my lips without any hesitation. Without any thought. Maybe it’s the champagne.

His face lights up, like he’s just as surprised by my quick answer as I am.

He takes me by the hand and leads me to the dance floor. Right in the middle.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I whisper.

“None of us do,” he says with a wink. He places my hand on his shoulder, takes my other hand in his, then holds me around the waist and pulls me in closer. “Just follow me.”

Other string instruments join in with the violins in a hauntingly beautiful melody.

He takes a step and I look down to follow and make sure our feet don’t get tangled.

“Look up at me,” he whispers.

He looks down at me with a smile on his lips. Then the brass instruments start in, the music getting louder and picking up speed.

Suddenly we’re moving all around the dance floor, around and through the other dancers and I’m no longer paying attention to my feet. He twirls me and dips me and spins me again, his expression gleeful.

The song ends sooner than I expect, but Wood makes no move to let go of my hand or waist and I don’t either. So we dance again.

And again.

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