Page 68 of Not Just a Trick Play

“Maybe.” My fingers curl around the glass in front of me. Empty. And I’m parched from all the talking. I try to catch the attention of the bartender, even fluttering my lashes for effect.

He’s busy attending to other patrons. Now he’s drying glasses. Now he’s checking his phone. Now he is—wait, is he rearranging the little bottles of bitters? When he looks up, the dratted man glances right past me.

Meanwhile, all Jake has to do is tip his chin. Seconds later, the bartender is tripping over his feet to assist.

A stab of envy settles low in my stomach. Ugh.

He smirks. “Water, Sweets?”

“Tequila.”

“Tequila?” he repeats. Dark brows rise as if he’s skimming me for sanity. Arse.

“Yes. Tequila.” It doesn’t matter if he believes me. I am woman, and I know what I want. It’s my turn to take the world by storm. “Perhaps the type with the worms?” But the thought of a wriggly creature traipsing through my insides makes my stomach revolt. Ick. “Actually. No worms.”

Jake sighs dramatically, but his expression is all playful indulgence. “How about you let me pick something?”

I eye him warily, but as usual, he’s too tempting to refuse. “All right then, surprise me.”

In no time, a giant cauldron arrives, dominating our table, brimming with a mysterious reddish concoction and accompanied by a pile of recyclable yellow bendy straws on acocktail napkin. I glance at it, unsure, but since tonight’s all about adventure, I stab a straw into the vibrant liquid while Jake plunges his own in with more gusto.

I gulp down a mouthful. “Whoa.” A buzz sweeps through me, my skin heating. But the drink is delicious. I go in for another taste.

“Slow down, Sweets.”

“Race you!”

Of course, that’s all it takes to fire up Jake’s competitive streak, and he gets chugging, too. I bite down on my straw, forgetting everything else as I watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs, those lips of his… Our eyes lock, and a current pulses between us, crackling through the noise and chatter of the crowded bar.

The heat’s suffocating, so off comes the bolero jacket. I lick the salt from my skin, and Jake’s gaze zeroes in on my mouth like he’s imagining filthy, filthy things that only make me burn hotter.

The music changes to something low and sultry, the kind of rhythm that makes you want to get a little reckless. My pulse syncs to the beat, and I begin to sway. “I need to dance,” I blurt, because if I don’t, I might combust.

Jake’s expression shifts to what can only be labelled dubious. Wanker.

A second later, he shrugs. “Let’s go then.”

“You’re going to tempt fate like that?” I narrow my eyes, poking at his chest. It’s hard. Very, very solid. One of my fingers finds a button on his dress shirt and circles it, going round and round.

He scoffs, and my head tilts up to meet his grinning gaze. “Sure, I can. I’ve got magic in my moves.”

“Wait, did you truly just mangleMagic Mike?” I scowl. “Channing Tatum is a god.”

“Channing Tatum’s got nothing on me. C’mon.”

I blink, but don’t protest when he grabs my hand and leads me to the floor. He even gets the Moses treatment, the crowd parting to let us through. In seconds, we are in the midst of undulating bodies.

He is sexy and swoony and dirty and the reason self-control doesn’t stand a chance tonight. Does it need to?

He spins. Well, well, well. So the bloke’s got rhythm. But I have some fancy danc-y of my own. After all, what’s good for the gander is good for the girl.

I throw my arms up and sway, surrendering to the music, letting it take me away. I spin around. Like a loyal friend, the floor revolves in return, joining the fun.

This isn’t so hard. I smirk. Look at me, the very epitome of brave and brazen, and in the words of Jake Cunningham,“Carpe Dieming that shit.” And you know what? I’m rather good at it, too.Are you watching, Mr. Cunningham?

I attempt a little twerk, utterly shameless and absolutely loving it. “You see?” Am I gloating?

“Oh, I see all right.” He cracks up, but his amusement is so sweetly sincere, I can’t muster up the appropriate annoyance.

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