Page 117 of Lost Track

And talented.

Both.

Who knew that was such a potent combination?

Something tumbled from her chest to the ground and she was pretty sure it was her heart.

It was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Dave tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and tugged her further down the carpet. He glanced down at her.

“That’s it,” she said, dead serious. “That’s the competition. You just won all the awards.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

Not just any laugh, but the one he’d done the first night they’d hung out. Where it looked like all of his energy was in the laugh, and his knees weakened because his steps faltered, and he put his free hand on his chest like the laugh was exploding out of him.

It was her favorite of his laughs.

She wanted that laugh in her life for the rest of it.

Sure, he was laughing, but she wasn’t joking. As far as she was concerned, his talent exceeded all others.

They made it through the rest of the gauntlet without stopping to talk to anyone else. Though many people with cameras and microphones tried.

“I didn’t do any press after the last release,” he said in her ear as he steered her through the venue to their seats. “Curtis warned me they’d be bloodthirsty.”

“Why did you choose that one?”

He shrugged, following their liaison through round tables of well-dressed celebrities and production crew. “I like to throw them a bone every once in a while.”

When they arrived at their table, Dave waved away the liaison and held her chair out for her to sit down. He took the seat next to her, pulling the chair much closer to hers than it had been.

He sat down, let his eyes roam over the room as it filled with people and then settled his gaze on Sabine.

It felt like such a deliberate action that her heart responded with a little shiver.

Something about the slow perusal of his eyes through people he knew, people he worked with, collaborated with, should probably network with, and he chose to focus on her.

He leaned closer to her and draped an arm over her chairback.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, looking her in the eye.

“I feel good,” she responded quickly. But truthfully, she was a little overwhelmed.

He handed her the glass of water at her place setting and watched her take a sip.

“How are you really feeling?” he asked, voice soft and low, meant just for her.

“Nervous,” she confessed. “But I don’t have a reason.” Her gaze flicked through the room but couldn’t settle on any one thing. So much glitz and glam that it all sort of blurred together. “I think I’m afraid that I’ll have to talk to someone famous and forget who they are and then offend them. Like, what if it’s the President or something and I just completely blank on him. And then I’ll make you look bad and I don’t want to do that ever.”

“Dimples.” He took her hand and her attention.

She stopped looking around the room and focused on him. He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles and remained there for several seconds.

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