Page 32 of The Sweetmate
I roll my eyes. “Let’s go, dear. Time to swing me around the dance floor.”
“That’s the spirit, cupcake!”
Casey guides us farther into the room. Of course, everyone greets and fawns over him. He does have a magnetic personality. He introduces me to a few people, but I don’t remember any names, but there are a few faces I recognize instantly.
“Can we get something to drink?” I whisper to Casey. “I’m feeling a little parched and overwhelmed.”
“Coming right up.” He gives my hips a gentle squeeze before he slides up to the bar. The female bartender bats her lashes at him and giggles at something he’s saying. Other people navigate their way toward him.
A man who’s probably about twenty years my senior approaches me. He’s the classic silver fox. He smells incredible and has a soothing, deep voice. I recognize immediately that he’s flirting with me. This guy is attractive, but age gaps aren’t my thing. I love reading about them in romance novels, but not experiencing them in real life.
“Your date is preoccupied,” the gentleman observes. “How about I entertain you? Allow me one dance?”
That does sound nice. I accept his outstretched hand, and he glides us deep onto the dance floor. This gentleman has to be in his early sixties. His moves are impressive. I bet he’s charmed quite a few ladies with these skills.
“May I?” Casey’s voice cuts in.
My dance partner bows out gracefully and I thank him.
“Sorry, the bar took forever. I placed lids on our drinks.”
“Thank you.”
I have a red wine and Casey’s glass has a golden amber liquid. His breath doesn’t smell like whisky though.
“I had a feeling I might not be your type. Older men, huh?”
“I love older men.”
“Aren’t they grouchy?”
I snicker. “No. You argue with them and they get exhausted and just give in.”
“I figured you’d like a challenge. You know, if you have daddy issues…you could call me Daddy. I’d be your daddy.”
“That guy was definitely worth the title ‘Daddy.’”
Casey rolls his eyes and then bites his bottom lip. My stomach flips at the sight. Our playful banter comes to an end as a group of people approach. Casey keeps me included in the conversation flow; the man can converse with anyone about anything. I’ve noticed he always makes everyone around him feel important and seen.
I leave his side to go get a refill at the bar. A man around my age—late twenties or early thirties—eases in next to me.
“Aren’t you a pretty kitty?” He has a deep, gravely voice.
He did not just say that.I make a point to look around and then point to myself. “Who? Mee-ow?”
“Are you a chef? Sponsor? Model, perhaps?” His voice lowers as he keeps easing closer.
“Publicist.”
“Really? I’ve been needing one of those.”
I mockingly mimic his excitement. “No kidding?”
“How about we get together at my place?” He’s officially invaded my personal space.
I take my drink and take a step away, raising a hand. “I’m unavailable. Good luck on your hunt for a publicist or kitten.”
He gives me a two-finger solute and I make my way back to Casey. He wraps his arm around me as soon as I’m within reach.
