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“You’re doing this just to piss him off.”
“He’s an asshole.”
I snicker at how simple things seem at his age. “Not usually,” I find myself answering truthfully. “You’re going to need him to throw you the ball, Dimples. Not antagonizing him would be a good idea.”
My eyes meet Calvin’s and the amusement falls away from my face. Putting it mildly, he looks like he’s about to commit bloody murder. It certainly looks like he’s daydreaming about it. Suddenly, to his left, I spot trouble in the form of a stunning blonde in a painted on cocktail dress. She wraps her claws around Calvin’s forearm as he’s rising from his chair. His expression instantly transforms to a frozen look of dread and just as quickly, an odd streak of protectiveness raises my hackles.
“Thanks for the dance, Justin, but I gotta go rescue my…um…boyfriend.” I mutter the last word under my breath.
“Boyfriend?”
The question hangs between us, which I don’t bother to explain. Instead, I ditch the dance floor and march over to the table where the aggressive blonde has made herself at home in my seat. Without preamble, I do my best impression of a possessive girlfriend. Might as well have some fun, I figure.
“Boobear––” Placing my hands on my hips, I go with an over the top whine. “You promised me the next dance.”
Every conversation at the table comes to a screeching halt, a curious look on all their faces. Both the blonde and Calvin glance up. The blonde releases her grip while her eyes travel over me. I know she’s calculating her chances of stealing him away and see exactly when she’s determined that I’m an unworthy rival.
The embalmed expression Calvin’s wearing lifts for a moment. He murmurs something to the blonde and shoots out of his chair. As we make our way to the dance floor, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Boobear?”
The feel of his wide palm on my lower back makes my breath catch. So foreign, and yet so familiar, comfortable…huh.
“You wanted me to block bitches for you. Consider her blocked.” In the silence, I look up. I’m almost positive I can see a smile in his eyes…maybe. The eye contact makes me edgy so I redirect my gaze to his shoulder.
Taking my hand in his, he wraps the other securely around my waist and we start moving slowly across the dance floor. Just as a Sinatra song comes to an end, Etta James’ At Last comes on. Cue the eye roll. Could there be a more sickeningly romantic song? That’s a hard no.
I’m suddenly flushed and embarrassed, unsteady, where as Cal’s hold on me is determined. The man expertly takes charge. He isn’t at all awkward about it like I am. I don’t even have the stones to look up at him again.
Every single place his body touches mine feels scalded. My boobs are smashed up against a wall of granite wrapped in silky wool. And the heat…good golly, the heat coming off of him is nuclear. My thighs are starting to sweat. I can feel the dampness accumulating between my bare thighs. This is not good.
He’s a great dancer. I don’t even bother pretending to know what I’m doing; I just follow his lead. And I can say without a doubt that this is not the white man shuffle. This is like…well, it’s like good foreplay.
“I’m a shitty dancer.”
“I know.”
At his absent reply, I glance up and find his mouth curving up ever so slightly. “Don’t spare my feelings, really.”
“You’d rather I lie to you?”
Those words hit me hard and fast. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Whatever happens, please don’t ever lie to me. It’s the one thing I can’t handle.” The look on my face must’ve broadcast my panic because concern just as quickly alters his.
“I won’t ever lie to you, Cam. I promise.” Guileless and open, I can see it in his eyes that he means it. His promise reaches inside my heart and makes itself at home.
“Calvin,” calls a smooth feminine voice. We both stop moving. His ex-wife stands before us with a soft smile, her expression serene. “I wanted to say hello.” She extends a slim fingered hand at me. “Kim Holtzman.”
She’s elegant, self-assured from something that has nothing to do with her looks. Next to me, Calvin seems to have moved. He’s standing even closer––and as tense as he would be for a rectal exam. I shake her hand without hesitation, “Camilla DeSantis.”
Her focus shifts to Cal and my eyes follow hers. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” She smiles affectionately. “Then again you’ve always had a knack for surprising me.”
“I have a good reason to get out more.” Nobody fails to get the implication. My gaze drops to avoid her scrutiny, afraid that she may see the guilty look on my face.
