Page 22 of Detective Daddy Next Door

"Where's Daisy?" I ask.

Bria nods toward the dance floor. Daisy is dancing with a bald-headed man.

"Do you want to dance?"

She looks at me with confusion on her face.

I lean closer and whisper to her. "You know, to make our relationship look real."

"I think it's real enough. I introduced you to the people I work with."

"Oh wow. Does that mean I'll never meet the family?" I tease.

"No. Never."

"Okay, at least we can have this one little dance."

She sighs loudly and allows me to take her hand.

I lead her to the dance floor. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it's a slow tune playing, I think a Gloria Gaynor tune. I pull her close as we start to sway.

"I have to warn you, I'm not a very good dancer and I might step on your toes a couple of times," she tells me.

"You've been stepping on my toes since we met. I can endure a couple more."

She frowns at me, and in that moment, she looks so beautiful. I've been meaning to compliment her look tonight, but I thought it would be unprofessional. But she really looks beautiful. And smells alluring.

"How old are you?" I question.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

She's silent for a few seconds. "Twenty-eight. What about you?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"Forty. Maybe forty-two."

"Oh, really? I'm forty-nine. I just turned forty-nine last month."

She nods and says nothing.

I can feel a pull toward her. Having her this close isn’t easy on me. It isn't easy on my memory, either. All I can think about now is that night in Vegas. How she felt. How she smelled. The sounds she made. I remember it all.

"What were you doing in Vegas that day we met?"

Oh, is she thinking about Vegas too? Or is it just a random question?

"Work."

There's a probability that she’s remembering that night, and I pull her even closer to measure how she's feeling. She doesn't pull away. She doesn't resist. She falls into me; she seems comfortable. I lower my head gently and she raises hers slowly until our lips touch and we kiss. But we pull away just as our lips connect.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"No, don't be. I think I'm a bit drunk." The truth is, in a bid to feel relaxed, I’ve gone overboard and had one too many glasses of wine. I should have known better than to allow myself to drink so much on duty. The alcohol is just kicking in now.

"Do you want to sit?" she asks.

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