Page 28 of Dashing for Love

Because the man I’m staring at is Matthew Brodigan.

Chapter 11

Goldie

IBLINK. THEN I blink again. I’m not sure I’m breathing. But Iamdoing a fuck ton of blinking.

“Erhm, sorry.” He clears his throat and starts to turn away. “I have the wrong person.”

The thought of losing him is enough to launch me into action. “No!” I yelp, my mind racing.What do I do? What do I do? Holy crap, what do I do?Won’t he know my voice? I’ll change it. No idea how, but I’m doing it. I swallow, deciding if he recognizes my voice anyway, or anything else about me, then I’ll admit it. Maybe he’ll think this is funny. Like, ha-ha, what are the odds that you matched with yourbest friend’s little sister, am I right? Hilarious! I clear my throat and make my voice a little deeper. “The crow flies at night.”

His shoulders loosen and his mouth relaxes into a generous smile. “Dawn.”

I finally allow myself to take a breath. “James.”

“You look amazing,” Matty says. The mask does nothing to dim his eyes. If anything, it makes them even more mesmerizing.

What was in that drink?

“Thank you,” I smile, then gesture up. “Nice hat.”

He chuckles, and the sound of it, low and sensual, sends shivers racing across my body. I swear I have never heard that sound come out of him, and it’s doing funny things to my insides. He raises his fingers to the brim of it and tips it. “You like it?”

I nod. “The mask is a good touch.”

It’s agreattouch. The damn thing is not only making his eyes look incredible, but also highlighting the fullness of his lips, and good gracious, he justlickedthem. I barely manage to repress a groan and an irritated stomp at the universe. Like, listen: I know he’s hot. I’ve been acutely aware of this man’s hotness—and goodness, and kindness, and goofiness, and loyalty—for literaldecades. I do not need a dozen neon arrows blinking and pointing at him. I get it. I know.

And yet.

Even knowing all of this, I’ve never had the visceral reaction to him that I’m experiencing now. My palms are sweaty, for God’s sake, and I can’t wipe them on my dress because, you know, silk. It’s fake silk, but still.

I turn to wave the bartender over, then glance back at Matty. “Drink?”

He grins. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you?”

I shrug. “I was here first.”

He shifts closer and tilts his head toward me, and with the hat, the effect makes it feel like we’re the only two around. When he speaks, his voice is low. “Oh, I noticed.”

Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.

He straightens and orders our drinks. We’re quiet while we wait, and when they come, he raises his in a toast. “To mysteries.”

I can’t help the smile that blooms on my face. “To mysteries.”

We chat just as easily as if we were texting on the app, and when the lights dim even more and the band kicks into a slower song, Matty holds his hand out. “Shall we?”

I thread my gloved hand into his as my heart leaps into my throat. “I’d love to.”

He pulls me close on the dance floor, leaving just enough room between us to keep it respectable. He smells so good, like always, dark vanilla mixed with laundry detergent. It’s so distinctly Matty that I nearly blurt everything out, the scent of him luring me like a siren to my doom.

God, has he always had these muscles? And the cowboy hat—why is that sosexy?

“Talk to me, Dawn,” he says, sending a fresh wave of shivers down my body. “You’re awfully quiet now. Am I that bad of a dancer?”

I let out a nervous laugh.If he only knew.I remind myself to make my voice sound different. “Not at all. You’re…wonderful,” I finish.

He smiles, his hand tightening on mine while the other rests on my lower back like a branding iron. “Yeah?”

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