Page 61 of The Guy Who Fake Dated Me

Gossiping was one of the things on my list. Or, more accurately, the lack of it. Not that I’d never spread something I shouldn’t have, but I’d done my best to put it behind me. Again, my sister and mom had been the inspiration for this, along with the small-town mentality of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. Victoria and I had laughed about plenty of things, some of them mean, but I was always afraid a woman might suddenly turn into a backstabbing psycho who wielded personal information like a hammer ready to smash others to pieces.

I guess this had turned into a moment of reckoning. I slipped my arm around the back of her chair. “I like the way you think.”

“Of course you do.”

She held my gaze for a few seconds, and it took everything I had not to allow my eyes to drop to her lips. Even a workout hadn’t completely dulled her floral lotion, and the post-dancing glow made her seem brighter than ever.

Our waitress appeared, saving Victoria’s lips from my eminent contact and me from getting drawn even deeper into her. The woman set a small loaf of bread in a basket on the table, filled our water glasses, and rattled off our options for food. We told her what we wanted, and before she left, she asked if we would like two more people at our table.

“Nope,” Victoria said quickly. “Just us, if that’s okay.”

The waitress gave us a wide smile, nodded, and walked away.

Victoria turned toward me, and her knee bumped mine. On one hand it felt casual, but the numbing that ran up to my hip made it anything but.

“So, what did you guys do?” Victoria asked.

I leaned close and muttered, “We’re not supposed to give specifics.”

She pushed her bottom lip out.

Hard to resist that. “But it might have been a Bollywood dance.”

She blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Apparently, it’s Natalie’s favorite thing.”

“I’ve seen a few of those shows; how involved is your dance?”

I took the time to tell her that Kyle and a core group of friends were doing the heavy lifting and that the rest of us were only performing simple steps around the edges of the floor.

“You’ve never shown any aptitude for that kind of dancing.” Victoria took a sip of her water.

“I know a few moves that aren’t the waltz or the fox trot,” I said. “Like I mentioned, I went through a country music phase in college.”

“Define phase.”

A small lock of Victoria’s hair had fallen out of her ponytail and floated in front of her eyes. My fingers twitched to move it, but I resisted. “There was a girl who liked country line dancing. We dated for two months. The end.”

“Boring story.” She blinked, and the strands of hair caught in her eyelashes.

Before I realized what I was doing, I lifted a hand and guided the rebellious lock behind her ear.

Victoria shivered at the contact.

“What about you ladies? What’s your dance?”

“The Boot Scootin’ Booty.”

“Booty?”

She blinked. “Sorry, Boogie. Greta is convinced its Booty, and I’ve decided not to ruin her fun.”

“Probably wise.” I dredged the sequence for the song up in my mind. “It took you ladies that long to learn the dance?”

“Nah.” Victoria waved a hand. “I may or may not have had Keith spice it up.”

“Oh yeah?”

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