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My smile fades. They look so happy. Were Cassie and I ever that happy? I’m not sure now.
Aroha leans closer to me and murmurs, “I went into a sex shop last week.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Pardon?”
“I said to the guy behind the desk, how much is that big red vibrator? He said, ‘Ma’am, the fire extinguisher isn’t for sale.’” I chuckle. She smiles and says, “That’s better. You looked very sad.”
“Well, a vibrator joke is guaranteed to put a smile on my face.”
She gives an impish grin. “Somehow, I knew it would.” She winks at me.
It’s only now that I’m beginning to realize how miserable I’ve been. I’d forgotten what fun it is to flirt with a girl, and the pleasure of having her flirt back. Nothing is going to come of this, but it lifts my heart, which is a special gift so close to Christmas, when otherwise I’d be sitting at home, stewing in gloom. I’m really glad I stayed.
Our table comes second in the quiz, which is a miracle considering how much alcohol we’ve imbibed, and then the dancing begins. We sit and chat for a few songs, but then Justin Bieber’s Mistletoe starts up, and Alex says, “Everyone up.” We all groan, but he says, “I want to dance and I’m not making Missie climb over everyone—up!”
Tyson leads Gaby onto the dance floor. Alex heads off with Missie. Henry and Juliette face each other, and then without saying anything, he takes her hand and leads her there.
It’s just me and Aroha left. We’re still sitting together on the bench, with her almost tucked under my arm.
We study each other, our lips curving up. I feel reckless and impulsive. Fuck it. I’m not hiding anything. She knows I came here with Cassie, and she saw what happened. It’s Christmas, and she’s alone. It’s polite, right?
“Want to dance?” I ask.
“Definitely,” she says, her vehemence making me laugh. She scoots along, I follow her out, and together, we head to the dance floor. When we get there, I turn her into my arms, take her right hand in my left, rest my right on her hip, and we start to move.
Chapter Three
Aroha
Ooh, I’m more than a little tipsy. I rarely drink this much, but after Mum’s announcement today and the fact that the drinks were free, I threw all caution to the wind. I like whisky, and I rarely get to drink an expensive one like the Glenlivet, especially in a bar where I’m sure it’s over fifteen dollars a shot, and James was ordering doubles.
Luckily, I’m not bad at holding my drink, and at the moment I just feel warm and mellow and happy. I’m dancing with a gorgeous guy, and I’m pleased that he’s lost the haunted look he had when he came back into the bar. I first met Cassie at Gaby’s wedding back in March, so he’s been with her a while. I don’t know the circumstances around why they broke up, but even though a relationship ends because it’s already souring, it’s still painful to go through, and I’m sure he’s hurting inside.
He took my hand as we walked onto the dance floor, so he’s holding me formally with his other hand on my hip. But we’re only a couple of inches apart, and I can feel the heat of his body through his shirt. I can see his Adam’s apple, and the hollow at the base of his throat. God, he smells good.
We don’t speak for a while, but I can hear him humming along to the song. I’m not sure if, when it ends, he’ll lead me back to the table. Maybe he’ll even head off home. I need to make the most of the time I have with him. How often do you get to dance with a guy who’s young, rich, and gorgeous? I feel like Cinderella at the ball. I mean, he’s not going to give me a glass slipper or anything, and even if he did, it wouldn’t fit, but for a girl with only forty dollars in her account—actually, thirty-one dollars after the Uber—it’s fun to dream.
I don’t know that much about him. Gaby’s told me a little over the years. He’s the son of an Australian investment banker, someone who’s into hedge funds or asset management or something about which I know precisely zero. He’s a computer engineer and also knows a lot about finance, and he runs a company with Alex, Tyson, and Henry. And he’s had a lot of girlfriends. That doesn’t surprise me. He’s gorgeous and wealthy, a combination that’s certain to make him a babe magnet.
He drives a beautiful silver Porsche 718 Spyder RS, which I know cost him three hundred and fifteen thousand dollars, because I looked it up. He wears an Omega watch. Gaby said he lives in some mansion on an estate in West Melton about half an hour from the city center that has a pool, a tennis court, and its own botanical gardens, but during the week he stays in an apartment in the city. And he’s dancing with me. I’m not a gold digger, but Jesus, I’m only human. What girl wouldn’t be wowed by a man like this?
I’m a little intimidated, to be honest. He’s only three years older than me, but he’s so far out of my league that it’s almost laughable. My excitement dulls a little. He’s dancing with me because he’s being polite. He didn’t want to leave the only single woman sitting at a table on her own.
But we have flirted since Cassie left. I remember his words, Let me wipe your seat for you, the glint in his eye and his mischievous smile as he brushed the serviette over his face, and the way he put his arm almost around me, encouraging me to move up against him. He finds me attractive, I know he does.
The song changes to Last Christmas. We didn’t speak throughout the previous song, and I wonder whether he was thinking about Cassie the whole time. I glance up at him, expecting his gaze to be off in the distance, and wait for him to say thank you and move back.
Instead, I find him watching me, with no sign of letting me go. He doesn’t look away as our eyes meet, but instead sings along to the lyrics, telling me that this year he’s given his heart to someone special.
“You have a nice voice,” I say, because I want to say something, and I can’t think of anything else.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, the deep, rich tone giving me the shivers.
Beside us, I can see Alex and Missie laughing, and across the floor, Juliette and Henry are talking as they turn to the music. But I feel tongue-tied, as if I’m dancing with a movie star.
Basically, I’m not used to being with guys like this. The few boyfriends I’ve had have been quiet and sensible, because the gorgeous, wild boys only go for the gorgeous, wild girls. I’m neither gorgeous nor wild, and I’m not reckless or impulsive. Usually, I’m organized and in control—it’s no surprise that I’m a Virgo. On a journey, I’ll plan the route and know where the best places are to stop. I like things color coded and in alphabetical order. I never spend more than I have, and I rarely overindulge with food or drink.
But tonight, I do feel reckless, and yes, maybe a little wild. Where has living within the rules ever gotten me? I’m twenty-five, and I haven’t done anything—I haven’t traveled, or taken drugs, never had a one-night stand, or done anything spontaneous. I feel as if I’ve lived within a cage, and for once, I want someone to unlock it and throw open the door.
