Page 26 of Pity Present

“You don’t want to dance with me.” Looking around the room, I add, “Maybe your kindergarten teacher is waiting for you.”

“Don’t be a party pooper, Molly.” Blake pulls me into his arms with enough force that I have no option but to follow. My face lands smack into the crook of his neck. One whiff and I’m done for. From this moment forward, orange and clove, with a hint of bay rum is my new favorite fragrance.

I’m quite literally rendered speechless by this man. His arms,his scent, his overwhelmingly possessive embrace. If he showed any interest in me whatsoever, I’d run away to a deserted island with him and spend the rest of my days eating bananas and beating our clothes against the rocks to keep them clean. I wouldn’t even mind all the sand that would surely invade every corner of our beachfront hut. Somehow in my fantasies we’re roughing it like castaways.

Blake starts to hum along with the melody of the song, and I feel the vibration to the very core of my being.Yes, Blake, I’ll fly to the moon with you. I’ll swing on the stars…

But of course, this is real life and not a romance novel, so instead, I trip over my own foot which causes Blake’s hold on me to become something of a death grip. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I’m mortified is what I am, but I somehow find the nerve to tell him, “That was something I saw onDancing with the Stars. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have hit the floor and started to break dance.”

Blake’s laughter fills me with joy. “I would have liked to have seen that. Want to try it again?”

I shake my head. “It’s a maneuver that requires spontaneity.”

“Maybe you’ll do it later.”

I hope not, but I don’t say that. “I never try the same move on the same guy.”

“Molly …” Blake’s warm breath hits my skin and causes goosebumps to pop up everywhere.

When he doesn’t continue talking, I counter with, “Blake …”

“I like …” But again, he doesn’t finish his sentence.

“What do you like?”The feeling of me in your arms? The softness of my hair as it tickles your nose? The promise of a new love?

“I like pineapple.”

“Excuse me?”Is he likening me to fruit?

He pulls me closer for the briefest moment before pushing me away to the point where a high school chaperone would not only approve, but she’d also wonder if I had a world-class case of BO. “I’m trying a new line on you. I figure if I’m going to findlove while I’m here, I need to up my game. So, what do you think?”

I think I’d like to knee him in the knutz and tell him not to practice his wooing techniques on me unless he’s interested in datingme. My delicate sensibilities can’t handle it. “I think that if it’s true love you’re after, you should let the woman you’re interested in discover the kind of fruit you prefer in a more organic way.” I sound like a schoolteacher scolding him for throwing spit wads.

“Like on our honeymoon?” His voice is full of humor which makes me want to jump into his arms.

“Or when you take her out to brunch,” I say sourly.

“I have an idea,” Blake says. “I think we should buddy up and help each other while we’re here.”

“Buddy up?” I’m more insulted than I’ve ever been in my life.

“Yeah, you know, hook up and consult with each other about the people we meet. Help guide each other.”

“Hoo … hoo … hook up?” My mouth goes completely dry at the very thought.

“You know, have meals together that aren’t part of the mixer.”

“Oh.”

When the song ends and Blake steps away from me, I wind up stumbling forward like I’m trying to get back into his arms. How mortifying. Reaching out to steady me, he says, “So what do you think. Should we be each other’s dating pals?”

The words dating and pals should never be used in the same sentence. It’s mean. Hurtful. I think of how my mother has always told me to know my worth and not chase after a man, and she’s one hundred percent right. There’s no better way to show Blake I’m not romantically interested in him than to be his bud.

With that in mind, I tell him, “Sure, let’s bepals.” Now all I have to do is convince myself that’s all I want.

“Good,” he says. “There’s no breakfast get-together tomorrow, so what do you say I pick you up at your room at eight?”

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