Page 45 of Look What You Made Me Do

“I… don’t know exactly.”

She grinned. “Well, lucky you excel at other things.”

Simon smiled and Ella felt like the proverbial third wheel. Simon may not be Rosie’s usual type but they were very good together. “I’ll get the music,” she announced.

Ella loaded the jukebox up with a selection of her favorites, effectively clearing the dance floor of all the bass junkies – which was pretty much everyone. Unperturbed, she and Rosie boogied until midnight, pulling out all the dance moves they’d perfected through their college years and TGIF drinking sessions at this very establishment in its previous incarnation.

Simon couldn’t be coaxed out, watching them from the booth, laughing and shaking his head at their antics. Jake was watching them too. She should feel it. Ordinarily, that would have put her in a tailspin – Rosie was the mover – but her skin prickled with awareness and she was just lubed enough to not care.

When the oh-so-familiar opening chords of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ oozed from the jukebox, the dance floor filled quickly.

Apparently even the duff-duff crowd had taste.

“This one always gets them up,” Rosie said, undulating her hips and stomach.

“It’s a classic,” Ella agreed, doing a less successful version of Rosie’s effortless shimmy.

“I’m getting Simon.” Rosie strode to the booth, tugging on Simon’s very reluctant hand.

Ella laughed as she dragged him onto the floor. For someone who claimed he couldn’t dance, Simon got into the groove quite quickly. But then dancing with Rosie plastered to him didn’t actually require a lot of movement.

“Thought you said you couldn’t do this,” Rosie shouted.

Simon pulled her hips in tighter. “This isn’t dancing. This is fornication to music.”

Rosie laughed. “I love how proper you make fornication sound.”

“Forn. A. Cation.” Simon rolled the syllables off his tongue in a way that left Ella in no doubt that fornication was on his mind.

“See,” Rosie said, “you can say an F word.”

The song came to an end and the dance floor started to empty. Ella decided to give the love birds some alone time when a hard elbow jabbed her in the back. She swung around just as the man connected to the elbow stumbled and upended his frosty beer all down her front.

She gasped as cold, wet liquid soaked her bra and T-shirt. It was obviously loud enough to penetrate the love bubble as Rosie yelled, “Jesus, dude, watch where you’re going.”

“Oh shit, sorry, lady,” he slurred. “Sorry.”

“Simon,” Rosie ordered as she continued to glare at the guy. “Go and see if Jake’s got a towel or something.”

The man reached out. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated.

Ella dodged the hands. What did he think he was going to be able to do? Rub her dry?

“Hey, wait.” The guy inspected her closely. “I know you.”

Looking up from the state of her clothes, Ella focused on the beer spiller. Oh crap! Roger freaking Hillman.

“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.

“No, no. I do.” He grabbed her arm. “You’re Ella Lucas. Little Ella Lucas. From Trently.”

She tried to pull out of his grasp. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

Roger leered at her. “I don’t think so.” He ran the back of his forefinger down her arm. “Are you doing anything for the rest of the night?”

Ella’s skin crawled as his hand encircled her wrist. Her stomach turned over. She’d seen that leer before. Occasionally she’d come face to face with one of Rachel’s men and they’d get that look.

Like it wouldn’t be long before she was on the menu.

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