Page 35 of Heartless
I have to look away across the room. I can feel her body shaking, laughing at her own joke.
No shame.
“I got you. I saw that. Are your cheeks bleeding, Eaton? Does it hurt to hold in your laughter like that? I hear it can give you erectile dysfunction.”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth, Red?”
She blows a raspberry, highly amused. “Oh yeah. She’d love that joke.”
“The joke’s on you though. I wouldn’t last ten minutes and just because you’d be quiet doesn’t mean I would be.”
We both go still, and I watch her eyes widen while I beat myself up internally for letting a snippet of my old self tumble out, woken up by the beautiful redhead in my arms.
“Who said anything about me and you, Cade?” She blinks, her thick lashes making her appear a lot more innocent than I’m thinking she is.
Young? Yes.
Shy? No.
It’s a dangerous combination for a man like me.
The song changes, and before I can reply, some guy who works at the bank cuts in and asks if he can have the next dance.
I nod and step away graciously, even though it kills me. The thought of letting someone else dance with her makes me see red, but I also need to get the fuck away from wherever that conversation was heading.
10
Cade
Beau:Dude. You look like you’re trying to kill someone with the power of your stare.
Beau:Do you have a special superpower I don’t know about?
Cade:Why are you texting me from the same table?
Beau:Because you’re too terrifying to talk to.
Cade:I hope our nation’s enemies don’t find out what a pussy you are.
Beau:That’s rude. I think I’ll go dance with the nanny. She seems nice.
Beau:Yikes. Is that face special for me? Wanna go outside and blow off some steam like when we were kids?
Cade:No. You act like a chucklehead, but you know how to kill people with your bare hands. I’m not dumb enough to fight you.
Cade:Stop grinning at me like that. It’s weird.
* * *
Ispend the next ten minutes hating myself for walking away. Approximately four songs fit into a ten-minute window, and watching Willa dance with four different men is four men too many.
Ten minutes too long.
She’s all smiles and swagger. I watched her lips move almost the entire time. The bottom one is a little fuller than the top. If she wasn’t smiling all the time, it would give her a pouty sort of look. But there is nothing pouty about Willa Grant.
She’s a spark in the dark. Dancing flames against a midnight sky. She shines brighter than almost anyone in this entire place with her glossy hair, bright dress, and twinkling green eyes.
And she’s the fucking nanny, which means I shouldn’t be counting songs and minutes like some sort of possessive psycho, when all I’ve been to her for over a week is a grumpy asshole.
