Page 8 of The Cinderella Prince

“Cedric,” he said simply, thrusting his hand forward.

“That’s a fantastic name,” I admitted. His was a soft hand with a firm grip, unlike mine. We held hands for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. I enjoyed the warmth of his touch more than I should have. It wasn’t like I was starved for the attention of other men, but the attentionof this particular man felt like a much more significant reward.

Bradley set my mason jar and a glass of elderflower spritz for Cedric on the counter. Cedric paid with a large bill and waved it off when Bradley looked for change.

My eyes narrowed. Was that part of the game? Impressing me with his generosity, checking if I’d fall for it? “I like your style,” he said before I could think too hard.

“I picked it myself,” I said, the heat rising to my face. He was direct, leaving no room for nonsense and doublespeak. “I like your accent.”

Cedric’s eyebrows wiggled playfully. “I picked it myself.”

“Where is it from?” I asked, finding myself a foot nearer Cedric than I had been a moment before. Invisible ropes tied around my wrists and ankles and pulled me in. Fighting them was futile. I better surrender.

“It’s French.” Now that he said it, it was, although not quite. There was a softness to his words that I couldn’t place. He added, “Sort of.”

I grinned. It took effort not to lean in and be absorbed by his intense gaze. I could lose myself in the stream of his personality like a tiny twig in a massive river. But I also might stay afloat. “Do you dance, Cedric?”

“I would dance with you,” he said, clearly compromising.

We abandoned our drinks to Bradley’s care as I grabbed Cedric’s hands and pulled him to the dance floor. The lasers cut through the artificial smoke near the stage as we held on to one another and spun. The night swirled around us, theworld tilting and spinning and losing focus. When I released him, he caught the rhythm of the music independently. In a few minutes, we danced our hearts out, almost like we tried to show off.

I never saw anyone else. I never noticed the murky, shadowed figures around us. The lights crossed Cedric’s smooth face, lit up his fair skin, and made his pearly teeth shine. If he had been a little uncertain at the start, there was no trace of any doubts now. His confidence existed so naturally that he matched my dance skill seemingly by the sheer force of his will.

Our bodies, our heat, and our youth dazzled me as we neared one another and pulled away, always in the movement, never stopping the long game that took us through the night. As though time itself slowed down, I saw things in flashes of blinding white floodlight glimmering, freezing individual moments rather than letting the clock go on. A careless touch, an undone button, a press of my body against his, deep, spicy scent of cologne and sweat, they all mixed into a cocktail of passion I hadn’t experienced before. His rolled sleeves and bare forearms became the most intimate and erotic things in my mind. I lost interest in all the underdressed guys dancing on the floor, my gaze never leaving the man who made the undoing of a single top button of his shirt feel like an expensive and exclusive striptease.

And whenever his hand brushed against my arm, his fingers left a blazing trail. His gaze never left me when his eyes were open. His attention was glued to my face, or else his head was hanging back, and our bodies melted together.

Never had I felt as though I was someone’s everything. Never until this moment had I felt like a guy I looked at looked back at me and only me.

And when Cedric took my hand and pulled me from the dance floor to get our drinks, the ice had long melted in my mason jar, but I didn’t care. We went through the bar and out on the terrace, where a canopy of colorful lights made all his features soft and smooth. “That was surprisingly fun,” Cedric said as soon as we were out.

I gazed at the second undone button, his creamy skin taut over his pecs, the interesting part disappearing under the tight fabric of his shirt. He inhaled, and I lifted my gaze to his eyes, burning ice if such a thing was possible. “Who are you, Cedric?” I asked.

“No one,” he said, the edge of his glass tapping mine.

I closed my lips around the swirly straw and pulled a mouthful of my lemony vodka and melted ice. “You must be someone,” I said after sipping with satisfaction.

Something flickered across his face so briefly that I wasn’t even sure I saw it. A tightness of some sort, a concern. “I’m just passing by,” he said lightly, even the ghost of worry gone from his smooth features. “And you, Tristan? Who are you? A cupcake delivery guy during the day and a menace on the dance floor at night?”

I threw my head back and laughed. “I’m neither.”

“I’m intrigued,” Cedric said. Something about him made me believe that he really was. People filed out from Neon Nights, chatting in small groups scattered around the terrace. Tables were occupied by those less interested in dancing. “You’re from around here, correct?”

“Correct,” I said. “I live just across the street.” Thethought of Roman lying in the bed all on his own, licking his wounds—emotional wounds rather than the scuffs he couldn’t care less about—made my heart sink. Had he not been so stubborn earlier, I never would have crossed paths with Cedric. Whatever this thing between us was—and it was nothing measurable on any scale I knew—I wanted to see where it would go. He shattered my game of flirting and cut right to the dance. “And I help out when I can. Like the cupcakes.”

Cedric smiled and nodded, pieces falling into place, as though I said the most interesting thing ever uttered. I liked this guy.

Chatter grew louder near us, and I glanced at a small group of strangers who’d dropped by for the party. Then, looking at Cedric, feeling my pulse quicken and the heat make my face glow, I took the leap. “Do you wanna go someplace quieter?”

“With you?” He grinned mischievously.

A snort and a nod replied so I didn’t have to.

“I would love to,” Cedric said.

In an instant, a world of possibilities opened up. I had seen him dance, felt his body up close to mine, sensed his deep and raw interest, and discovered an inkling of something else in him; now, I wanted more. I wanted to put my hand on his waist and get so close that there would be nothing other than the spicy scent mixed with sweat for me to inhale. I wanted to ask him questions until I knew who he was. And I wanted to see where the night took us. A glance from him had been enough to make me want to know the answer to that one question.

I snatched his hand, and we hurried back inside,dropped off our glasses, and made for the exit. Outside, the residual heat of a New York summer and a breath of fresh air welcomed us.

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