Page 53 of How You See Me
“That’s what I get.”
“Agreed. Not only were you vague and dismissive when you ordered, but you crushed his poor, fragile heart.” She grins, her sparkle resurging.
“I did do that.” I stab the first bite and pull the savory piece of filet off with my teeth. “But I’m not mad about it. It’s delicious.”
She elbows me. “What about his broken heart?”
“I only care about your heart.”
“What?” she asks over the DJ, who started yelling into the mic with impeccable timing.
I shake my head and wave it off, grateful to be saved by the staff once again.
Chapter 12
Josie
Hayes is four beers in, and the most I’ve gotten out of him is a half smile. That’s it. I’d hoped for a glimpse at the man behind the perpetual scowl—something loose and real—but he’s still locked up tighter than a librarian’s forbidden section.
Sometime during my second cocktail, the room started to tilt—not spin, not yet, just the slow lean of a boat drifting off course. I’ve begun nursing the melting ice instead of ordering another. Did I unknowingly order a drink with double shots?
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’ve lost my tolerance for alcohol. Since leaving Manhattan, where wine and champagne flowed like tap water in Ryder’s world, I haven’t had more than a glass here or there. It's not like Jordan and I had money to waste on non-essentials afterI moved back to Virginia following his accident. It’s amazing how your body can forget years of training in a few stressful months.
I’ve tried dancing off the buzz and forcing down more of the wrap I didn’t want. Nothing seems to soak it up.
Then, the DJ flips a switch, and my spinning head becomes a non-issue. Hidden spotlights over the bar start flashing. Whatever he’s yelling into the mic garbles through the speakers, but I catch “bar dancing time.” That’s all the information I need.
Our bartender and crew sweep the bar clean, removing glasses and wiping down surfaces. This isn’t their first rodeo.
Every female in the room shrieks, me included, and I turn on Hayes. “My apologies.”
His brow raises. “For what?”
“For this.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, my alcohol-infused limbs haul my languid body onto the bar without incident. The climb was probably anythingbut graceful, but I also don’t care.
I was once obsessed with theCoyote Uglymovie. Those fearless dancers and their sexy confidence were everything I wanted to be. But I could never pull it off, even when I tried. I was usually the girl doodling on the paper menu instead of going after what she wanted.
But not tonight. Thank you, rum.
The familiar bagpipes of “Copperhead Road” scream through the speakers, and my body responds like it’s beenwaiting for this moment my entire life. My pulse matches the drumbeat, and I start stomping, swaying, and whooping in sync with the other women.
The song goes on forever, and I’m sweating by the time it fades out. I find Hayes, as I often did whenever the dance steps spun me his way, and he’s still watching me with bodyguard energy. There’s also a hint of sultry admiration in there, but I refuse to let that go to my heart. He’s made it clear that he’s off limits. And what man wouldn’t appreciate a bar dance from a woman?
And he had a full bar to enjoy.
The woman next to me uses my stool to climb down, and Hayes is there instantly to help. She lingers a bit, and I hate how her silky brown hair sways like a hair commercial when she moves. She’s got curves I’ll never have, which she shows off in her flowy, low-cut shirt and tight jeans.
Something akin to the New York road rage I’d witness in cab drivers rises into my throat, and I step forward.
He notices me moving in his periphery and dismisses her. They both look up at me, but my focus stays on the hair model.That’s right. He’s with me, my laser glare says, even though it’s wrong for me to stake my claim and run off someone he may connect with. Then again, I haven’t done one rational thing since I stepped on this bar. Why stop now?
I get back to Hayes, and he’s waiting for me, hand out to guide me to safety. I bend to step on the stool, but the entire room whirls and gravity takes over.
I tumble into his arms—a more dramatic replay of the apparel store—and there are worse places to be. Justbecause he and I are off limits to each other doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the feel of him. If he can appreciate my bar dance, I can appreciate how rock solid his arms feel around me.
With the muscles I saw yesterday coming to mind, my fingers do their own thing and travel the wide breadth of his pecs. It’s only fair since his hands haven’t left my waist. He could’ve let go the moment my feet hit the floor and ignored me like he did the model. But here we are, tangled in our own quiet orbit, connected once again.
