Page 28 of The Amazing Date

His comment causes me to raise my brows in confusion.

He runs with it. “There is an obvious connection between them—history, likes, dislikes. Yet they know how to push the other’s buttons.”

I nod in understanding. He’s right. Roberto and I have history. We have chemistry that can’t be denied. But we can also be our own worst enemies, sabotaging each other. If we’re not careful, we may wind up with the same fate as the boys, eliminated and headed home.

Maybe something good can come out of Gabby’s injury. Maybe Roberto and I can find our ways back to the good side of the chemistry we’ve always had. He lifts his hand off my thigh. The cool air replaces his warmth, and I feel a sense of loss. I lean over. “I’m good staying past an hour.” I take in his strong profile, his five-o’clock shadow and piercing dark eyes forcing me to take a deep breath. He bops his head to the beat of the music, staring out at the dance floor.

I’m not sure what is going on. I should be worried about getting enough rest for tomorrow’s challenge, but I’m overwhelmed with a stronger desire—an overwhelming need. “I know we just sat down, but will you dance with me again?” I push. I cross the lines that are there for a reason. Signs I’ve posted to protect myself from moments like this.

His lips rise into a sexy smirk, and his tongue darts out between his lips, wiping as he swallows his beer. “We can do it all night long.”

My mind races to doing something else with him all night long as I follow him to the dance floor. I step around the land mines, I ignore the warning signs, and I follow the one man I shouldn’t to the one place that has always been our weakness: the dance floor.

For us it all started with a dance. Years later, we continue to tempt fate, continue to jeopardize our futures, continue to stick a middle finger toward the siren screams warning us of the danger.

I wonder if a similar battle is being waged in Roberto’s mind. He’s always been the cooler, calmer one of us. Does he have the same concerns?

Roberto lifts my hand, spinning me into a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn. A flick of the wrist pulls me in close to his body, chest to chest. We grind right in the middle of the dance floor.

For all the issues Roberto and I have had, connecting on the dance floor has never been one of them. One hand in the air and the other on his muscular lower back, I bend my knees, close my eyes, and forget for a moment this is my best friend’s brother. I forget our history. I remember when we were and let my mind race to a place it has no place going—what we may become.

Chapter 18

Roberto

My fingers fly across my small sketchbook, my mind racing a hundred miles a minute. As if this whirlwind of a day wasn’t enough, Rylee and I had to be pulled off the dance floor by the twins. We had a final round together with the group and then said our farewells. Adam offered all of us a landing spot if we are ever in Indiana, though they cautioned that given their poor performance on the race, their sister might break up the band.

It’s 2:00 a.m., yet my mind refuses to rest.

I’m sitting up on the bed in this tiny hotel room. The end table lights are on, and Rylee’s mind must be racing as fast as our hearts are beating.

Dancing has always been a dangerous treat to us. Our bodies pressed together confirmed yet again that we fit. A match like no other. On the dance floor.

Leaving the club, walking arm in arm, the buzz of alcohol racing through our systems, the last place we should be right now is in a small hotel room together.

I sense Rylee’s concern; it’s clear in her actions. The second the hotel room door opens, she races to her backpack and pulls out her notebook, scribbling feverishly and mumbling about checklists, research, and anything to keep from addressing the electric current that continues to buzz in the tiny room.

I follow suit, using the wave of emotions to push past the barricades I’ve struggled with the past year. Having Rylee in my arms, hips pressed against mine, fist pumping to the heavens, is an image I’ll never forget. An image that inspires me and, if I’d listen to my rapidly beating heart, I’d admit always will. The troublesome muse has returned.

I keep my head lowered, afraid to look at her. She has no idea how significant this moment is to me. I’ve not been able to successfully draw a person on charcoal since the incident. Yet, the image of her, joy on her face, freedom in her spirit, has my fingers flying across the paper like I’m sixteen again.

I’m not sure how long I sit here and sketch, only pausing when her voice interrupts. “I’ve set three alarms, each one minute apart.” She places her pen inside her notebook before closing it.

I don’t bother to ask, already knowing she is a believer in belts and suspenders. She leans across to place the notebook on the nightstand, her bare legs peeking out from under the sheet. She twists, catching the rolling pen, the move causing her I Love New York T-shirt to rise above the curve of her rear. I get an eyeful of her pink cotton panties. I divert my eyes to my sketch pad as she slips back under the sheets, our double beds a mere two feet apart.

“I still can’t believe with all the money you guys paid for this competition that they put us up in a crappy Super 8.”

She rolls to face me, her beautiful face makeup-free, hair no longer confined in a ponytail, flowing free for the evening. “Only the team placed first gets good accommodations. A five-star hotel, a four-course dinner at a fancy restaurant, and sometimes a couples massage. More reason to be on the ball tomorrow. Or rather, I should say, today.”

Her eyes linger on my sketchbook, a question on the tip of her tongue. “I’ll turn off the light in a second. Just want to get this down.”

“Take your time. I don’t mind. It’s kind of nice seeing you draw. It’s been a while.”

Her reaction catches me by surprise. I’m not sure if she means a while since I’ve drawn or a while since she’s last seen me draw. In either case, it feels good. She props herself up, elbows pressed to a pillow, her palm holding up her chin with an I can stare at you all night look.

The look of awe and pride on her face makes me feel as if I’m capable. Capable of doing things I have convinced myself I had lost the ability to do.

“Yeah.” Her soft comment lingers in the air like a pleasant breeze on a summer day. She nods her head, a slow blink of her brown eyes hinting at the fatigue overtaking her. “It was a pretty good day.” She twists her head, laying her cheek on her crossed hands, eyes still on me. I watch as her blinks get slower, longer, as she loses the battle against sleep.

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