But of course, the moment was all wrong. Someone was still giving a speech. Most people weren’t listening anyway, but blurting out my feelings would awkward. Even for me.
Still, my gaze met Miller’s and the words were there, trapped in my mouth. His gaze dropped to mine and he swallowed.
He leaned closer for a moment, his mouth near my ear, and I caught the hint of his soap — something woodsy and fresh.
Is he going to say the words I somehow can’t?
But instead, he asked, “Do you need another drink?”
So here I am, trying to reinforce the molecular structure of my heart as I watch him cross the room, more aware than ever of the easy way he moves. Now that I know he’s a former SEAL, that natural athleticism makes sense. And it’s even hotter nowthat I know it’s not natural. It’s earned. It’s something he worked for.
My heart hammers as I watch him walk away. It’s a heady feeling, this feeling that he’s mine. That he’s here with me.
Me, of all people.
That he dressed up for me. That he did something so totally and completely un-Miller-like, for me.
My inner teenage girl flops back on her bed and screams and giggles and kicks her legs with glee.
And then, without knowing why, the giggling stops.
Except, while I’m still processing that, his steps slow and he veers to the left of the line for the bar.
And that’s when I see her. Raquel from marketing. The woman who tried to get our attention earlier.
Marketing is two floors up and parsecs away in attitude. In marketing, they have offices instead of open-concept rhombuses. They have martinis with lunch and wear shoes that need to be polished. Or evencanbe polished.
I haven’t had a pair of shoes that could be polished since I gave up tap when I was eight.
Polished is the perfect word for Raquel. She’s tall enough that when Miller stands next to her, shemeets his gaze with the barest tilt of her head. Of course, she’s notjusttall. She’s tall and willowy. I wonder if that’s a requirement in marketing. Though, surely that would be illegal.
There’s a moment in the movieBlade Runnerwhere Sean Young looks so astonishingly beautiful, you know she must be a replicant. That’s who Raquel reminds me of. A woman so poised and perfect she almost doesn’t look real.
I’m still thinking about Sean Young’s ethereal beauty when the chair beside me scrapes against the floor as Devon slides into it.
I tear my gaze away from replicants and shoot my friend a smile. “Hey.”
He shifts the chair close enough to bump his shoulder against mine. “Hey yourself.”
I give him the side-eye. “You didn’t dress up.”
He smirks. “I wouldnever. Besides, the last season ofGame of Throneswas such a disappointment, I refuse to participate in anything that celebrates such mediocrity.”
I clutch my hands to my chest. “True. Very true. The showrunners betrayed us all.”
He laughs. “Just a second.” Then reaches up to fiddle with one of my dragon hair clips. “There. Much better.”
“Was it—” My hand flutters tomy hair.
He swats it away. “Nope. I just fixed it. Your dragon was listing, but she’s all better now.”
Oh, dear. I hope she wasn’t listing for long. “They’re a bit heavy,” I explain. “All the sparkles, I think.”
He gives me an indulgent smile. “Indeed.” Then he gives me a serious look. “You’re a good friend, you know.”
“Oh, thank you.” I think. Devon is fantastic, but known for his double-edged compliments, so I’m not sure exactly what his point is.
“It was really great of you to come with Miller and act as his wingwoman.”
