Page 63 of The Facade

“He’s your favorite character from the show, right?” Mack asked.

“Yes.”

His smile broadened. “Then that’s who I’m dressed up like.”

Was he trying to say that he’d chosen this specific costume because of me?

I mean,shouldI be reading into the fact that he just asked if the Duke of Hastings was my favorite character?

“Well, it looks nice,” I said.

Hot, my mind corrected out of nowhere.

What the heck?

Why in the world had I just thought that?

Was the punch I’d drank earlier spiked and just hitting me and making me delirious?

I’d never drank alcohol before, so I didn’t know what it felt like, but why else would my mind suddenly be telling me that Mack looked downright sexy in his tailored suit, the crisp white shirt striking against his dark skin?

“I’m glad you like my costume,” he said in a low tone near my ear. “I may have made a last-minute costume change after our conversation this afternoon—hoping it might impress a certain Bridgerton fan.”

He was trying to impress me?

I nearly tripped over my own feet when his words and the warmth of his breath sent shivers racing down my spine. But thankfully, I only stumbled a little and didn’t think he noticed.

At least, I thought I’d managed to cover it up. But then a knowing smile lifted his lips, and I knew he knew that I was suffering from the effects of being under the influence of a hot guy.

He bent his head close again and whispered, “I’d totally claim the title ofbest dressedtonight, but we all know that title belongs to you.” He looked pointedly at my dress, letting his gaze slowly run the length of me. “That dress is amazing, by the way. Almost as beautiful as the girl wearing it.”

My eyes widened when I looked up at him.

Was he flirting with me now?

And not in the teasing kind of way?

Was it possible that this guy, who had always been untouchable, was actually, seriously flirting withme?

I shook the thoughts away. He was just being a nice friend.

It was totally normal for friends to tell their friends they were beautiful and to give them the kind of looks that made their blood turn hot in their veins.

“H-how did you learn to dance so well?” I asked, needing something to bring me back to reality.

“My mom taught me. She made me practice with her in our living room when I started going to school dances. Said that I needed to learn the proper form since I was so tall and girls’ arms would get tired if I didn’t support them right.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to picture him and his mom dancing in their living room.

He nodded.

“Well, your mom is a really good teacher.”

“She is.” He nodded. “I actually like to think that being a good teacher runs in the family.”

“Is that your back-up plan if you don’t make it to the NBA?” I asked. “To be a teacher?”

He shook his head, a wicked grin spreading on his lips before he said, “I was talking about what I taught you last night.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I mean, that wasn’t a terrible lesson, was it?”

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