Page 69 of Not Just a Trick Play

Since I’ve nailed the art of the twerk, I try my hand—foot?—at a pirouette. Huh. Easy. I could do this blindfolded, on one leg, in a hurricane. To prove my point, I close my eyes mid-twirl.

Big mistake. My feet tangle, and I start to topple. But before I get too friendly with the floor, Jake’s there, swooping in and catching me. He finishes the spin without missing a beat, his hands finding their home low on my back, right above my arse, drawing me in. We’re fused together like a delicious cheese toastie, and I have no desire to be anywhere else. We slow into a gentle sway.

His hold is perfect—not too tight, not too loose. We’re totally Goldilocksing this dance.

Our gazes lock, and every nerve in my body buzzes with the need to close the gap between us.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not.”

I’m really not, because we’re hovering between “too much” and “not enough.” And even though I’m not sure which way we’ll fall, I can’t bring myself to care—because at this moment, we’re perfectly suspended in “just right.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

JAKE

“I love this song…”

Amelia shuts her eyes and sways, mouthing the lyrics. Or tries to, anyway.

I’m two seconds from kissing her, but I know better—barely. We’ve already danced on that tightrope too many times tonight. Instead, I tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, careful not to disturb the veil hanging off-kilter. My fingers linger on her cheek, seeming to think they belong there. I shove them into my pocket, because clearly, they need supervision.

Then she stumbles, nearly falling over, and I grab her.

“How drunk are you, exactly?” I ask, suppressing a grin. Not that it matters—I’m not letting her out of my sight.

“Totally sotted,” she chirps, sounding way too proud of herself.

I navigate us back to the bar. As soon as I lean against it, she presses herself to me, chin on my chest. When her hand trails up my shirt, my pulse jumps, and so does my cock.

She flashes me a cheeky smile. “Drink?”

“Not sure that’s the best idea,” I murmur.

“Rubbish.” She waves me off, peeking around my shoulder. “I’m ready for another.”

She signals the bartender and points to a bottle of tequila. Of course, now’s when he decides to pay attention.

I catch his eye and subtly shake my head, and he vanishes.

Amelia swivels to me, lips pursed. “You’re a wanker, Wonka.”

I smirk at her petulant pout. “What do you say we leave?”

“I’m having fun,” she counters.

“Come on, you’ll love my surprise…”

“A golden ticket?” Her expression transforms into gleeful anticipation that has me snort-laughing.

“Absolutely. Let’s go check out my workshop,” I agree. Hope she won’t be too let down when tonight’s prize ends up being nothing more than aspirin and water.

Her nose wrinkles, and she casts a pointed look at my crotch. “I’ve already been on the factory tour.”

Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face. “Yeah, but this is going to be a private tasting. I guarantee an experience that’s truly out of this world.” Her eyes spark with curiosity, and I link our pinkies together, sealing the deal.

As I steer through the crowd, Amelia hollers, “We’re off. Jake’s offering me a taste of his Milky Way.”

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