Page 59 of The Emerson Effect
“Yeah,” I say. “Yes. Of course. I’m great. I’m with you.”
Before I can flinch at throwing out that last bit, Twila’s lips curve up into a happy smile. And suddenly, I’m mesmerized again. I shake it off much quicker this time, though, and eat the last bite of my steak before washing it down with the iced tea I ordered.
“You still want to hit the dance club upstairs after dinner?” I ask, proud that my voice sounded normal and not cracked with nerves.
“Yeah. Don’t you?” she replies.
“Yeah. Of course.”
And I need to stop speaking in broken, staggered sentences, or she’s going to know something is up. And if she forces me to explain my problem, I might just blurt out the truth, and this whole thing will be over.
I manage to hold it together for the rest of our meal. I should’ve ordered a cocktail to help me relax. Or maybe a shot. Or three.
I take the check when the waiter delivers it, and as I pay, Twila checks her phone. Her soft gasp snags my attention, andwhen I glance over at her, her cheeks are a deeper shade of pink than before.
“What is it?” I ask, and she slumps a bit, resigned.
“Someone posted a video of us. Here, eating dinner,” she says, and as she speaks, her blush deepens.
When I shoot her a questioning look, she sighs and passes me her phone. When I take it and look down at the video, my breath hitches in my chest. The shot angle is from behind me, and while I’m obviously looking down at my plate, Twila is staring at me. Her expression looks hungry, and not for the food.
Her eyes are hot with desire, and her bottom lip is clenched tightly between her teeth. My head starts to lift, and her eyes drop to her plate, that hungry expression gone, replaced by a serene smile as she scoops a forkful of potato up and into her mouth. I watch her until her gaze lifts, and suddenly, I’m the one jerking my gaze away.
It’s a perfect dance. Both of us watching the other without letting them know. A tango that has us twirling around each other, yet never meeting eyes.
The camera angle suddenly flips, and the poster is grinning with bright eyes as she says, “Have you ever seen anything cuter than these two?”
Then the video restarts. I smile at Twila as I hand her phone back. She’s still pink-cheeked, and my chest hollows out as the reason for her embarrassment suddenly becomes clear…
She wasn’t acting.
She was sneaking peeks at me when I wasn’t looking, just as I was her. Is it possible? Is she feeling the same undeniable attraction I’m feeling for her?
I push the thoughts aside as we leave the restaurant. It’s showtime, and I can’t let my introspection come across as discomfort or unhappiness should anyone recognize us. I put on my happy face and hold Twila’s hand as we head for theelevators that will take us up to the dance club on the top floor of the casino.
A few people board the elevator with us, and my chest warms when Twila tightens her grip on my hand, silently letting me know we shouldn’t let go. I don’t think the trio of guys recognizes us. They don’t even give us a second look as the doors slide closed, and the car starts to rise.
I hear the thump of the bass before the elevator stops, and as soon as the doors open, the sound beats against my chest. The five of us walk out, and Twila sets a slow pace to put some distance between us and our elevator mates. When I look at her in askance, she slips a fifty into my palm.
“For our cover charges,” she says. When I try to argue that I’ll pay, she shakes her head as her expression turns mulish. “You paid for lunch and dinner, and pretty much everything we did yesterday.”
“Because I wanted to, just like I want to pay now,” I say in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the blaring music.
“Please, Emerson. Let me do this. College is expensive.”
Whatever I was about to say next dies on my lips. Twila remembers why I’m doing all of this––to pay for Kennedy’s education, as well as taking care of her and our mom. And she obviously values my reasons as much as she values her own.
My hand holding the fifty-dollar bill drops to my side, and I give her a small nod. Her answering smile is filled with relief as she propels us toward the club’s entrance. Once we get inside, we head straight for the bar. Twila doesn’t argue when I pay for our drinks, and when the bartender hands her a mojito, she thanks him and takes a long sip.
We people-watch near the bar for a while, and Twila orders and pays for our second round. When I finish my beer, she’s swallowing the last of her cocktail. I take her glass and set it next to mine on the bar.
“Want another?” I ask, leaning in to speak directly into her ear.
She shakes her head. “Want to dance?”
I smile and nod, then take her hand to pull her out onto the dancefloor. We stick near the edge and start to move, slowly at first. Before long, we’ve both found a rhythm, and Twila gradually edges closer to me as she dances.
She stops, leaving a couple of inches between us as she stares at me in silent question. Stretching out my arms, I grip either side of her waist and pull her in until our bodies brush against each other with every roll of our hips. Twila’s fingers hook through the belt loops at my waist, and I feel the pressure as she holds me against her.
