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His shrug was almost imperceptible, as if it were for him, not me. “I’m guessing that’s a no to dancing?”
“It’s not a yes. I’ve never danced with a guy before.” Never much danced with a girl, either. Though there was that one time at my cousin’s wedding. . . .
“It could be something else to write about.” Quinn searched my face for a reply that I didn’t have, and then he focused on the crowd around me. “Or maybe there’s another more interesting lecture in life here. I’ll leave you to find it.”
He stepped to maneuver around me, and I sidestepped, cutting him off. His surprised breath brushed over my cheek. Minty, fresh, not reeking with alcohol like I expected. “I just meant to come over here to say thanks. That’s all. Why didn’t you take up the offer of a room?”
He looked toward his shoes and then up again. “It didn’t seem like you’d care either way.”
“I don’t. It just doesn’t make sense. You need a room, I have one.”
“It might not make logical sense, but . . . you and me, I don’t know if we’d get along so well.”
I frowned. “It’s a room.”
“Yeah, but no. Thanks.” He pushed past me, his arm knocking lightly against mine. “Hey, Shan, wait up!”
And that’s the last you’ll see of them.
I moved back to a quiet spot against the wall and sank against it for a moment. Slowly, I took out my notebook. Maybe Jill had a bigger point than I thought. I shrugged the creeping something off me, and jotted more notes, including one in the very back of the book. For me, for tomorrow.
Get a cat.
“Oy, Dreamy.”
Something pinched my thigh, startling me. My notebook fell from my hand, tumbling into the lap of the guy sitting in a wheelchair. “Gah!”
“Well, that’s not the usual response I get from people. But I like it better.” He lifted my notebook to me. The hummingbirds on his arms seemed to move as his muscles bunched. He waved the notebook.
I shook my head and took it. I prided myself on being observant, yet this was the second time this guy surprised me. “You’re a stealthy one, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “Have to be. Look, do me a favor and stand on my other side, would you?”
I frowned, and maneuvered to where he pointed. He wheeled in closer to the wall and glanced over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wrangling my notebook into my pocket.
“Hiding from my sister.”
His blue eyes met mine for the briefest moment, and something clicked. “Wait a second. Look at me again.”
His grin lifted and that blue was looking at me again. “Why sure,” he drawled. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I sucked in a sharp lungful of air.
“Take your breath away, do I?”
I shook my head and pushed my glasses up. “Nope, but I believe I’ve met your sister. Your eyes seem to exhibit the same mischievous twinkle. It’s Shannon, isn’t it?”
“We’ve got mischievous down to an art form. Now inch a little to the left and don’t look down at me. I don’t want her or Sullivan to spot me.”
“Sullivan?”
“Sullivan. Quinn. You know him too?”
“Well know is going a bit far,” I said. “But we’ve met. Why’re you hiding from them?”
“They weren’t supposed to be at this party. Damn. I knew I should have gone to Penn State. This is worse than living at home.” He shook his head and laughed. “Hey, keep your head up.”
I jerked my chin up and stared at a couple pressed up against the wall in front of us.
“They’re going for it,” he said. “Get a room!”
The couple acknowledged him with their middle fingers. A deep, hearty laugh left him, rumbling through his chair and through the material of my pants.
“You sound so much like Shannon, it’s uncanny,” I said, glancing at the crowd around us. So far as I could see, Shannon and Quinn were long gone. “What’s your name, anyway?”
He rolled forward and pivoted the chair until he faced me. “Hunter’s the name. Travis Hunter. But I prefer to go by the last name now.” For a lingering moment he gazed toward his lap. Then he reached out a hand. His shake was firm—a little too firm, as if he were well-practiced at proving his strength to strangers.
“Quite the grip, Hunter. I’m Liam.”
“I know.”
He did? “How?”
He pointed his index finger toward my pocket; poking out of it was my notebook, my name inscribed into the cover. I pushed the notebook further in. “I write for the Scribe.”
“So that’s where I’ve seen Liam Davis before. You wrote the politics column last year.”
I straightened, my lips stretching into a wide smile. I pushed up my glasses and nodded. “That was me.”
“Serious shit. I loved your Christmas piece.”
My smile faltered. “Thanks. What do you study?”
