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When they leave, it’s only Mase and me and very loud music. Also, a crowded dance floor.
But for once the closeness of strangers doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but my stomach is free of knots as I lean into the music.
Or maybe it’s Mase.
Bubbles are released in regular intervals as we dance and I reach up with everyone else to catch, to pop, tangling my arms with strangers and getting the odd bump to the head. It should have been annoying; I should be cringing at the insensitivity of others. Instead, I laugh, calling out apologies because smiling is infectious and bubbles make everyone happy.
“You like the bubbles,” Mase says, raising his voice over the din.
“I like the bubbles,” I tell him with a happy smile.
“You’re stunning when you smile like that.”
His words wipe the smile off my face and I stop moving. Stunning? I’m pretty on a good day, beautiful once or twice, but stunning?
“What did I say?”
“Something that no one has ever said.”
Mase frowns. “Well, darlin’— Fee,” he corrects with a shake of his head. “That is a shame because it should be said a lot more. Only truth tonight, right?”
My smile is hesitant because I believe him and that is a lot scarier than listening to him pile on the insincere charm.
An hour later, the floor is less crowded, but Mase is still smiling as he watches me. Four women have tried to edge me out and I’ve been goosed twice from behind by unseen hands.
Three times.
Noticing my glance over my shoulder, Mase reaches for my waist with a possessive hand and pulls me close. “Some handsy folks in this place,” he says, his breath fluttering against my ear.
Or maybe it’s my stomach that is fluttering as I lean in. “You, too?”
“Best ass in baseball, or so I’ve been told. It’s a constant temptation for some.”
“Modest, aren’t we?”
“I can suggest you give it a squeeze if you doubt me.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Shame.” He grins, his hand remaining on my waist as we move together. He’s a good partner, save for the attention he gets. Normally, the looks and comments would have sent me running off the floor, but there’s something about the way Mase looks at me that boosts my bravery.
That I’m the only woman in the place, which is clearly not the case. But the way he smiles, how his blue eyes look into mine, makes me think I’m the only woman here for him.
Whatever he’s doing, he’s very good at it. Flirting seems effortless for Mase, not like me, who has to pick and chose my words like I’m editing one of the romantic novels I devour.
Tonight—this moment—it’s possible that I am one of those main characters. I am Lucy from The Hating Game, Olive from Love Hypothesis, any of Nora Roberts’ heroines. Daphne dancing with the Duke. Lizzy Bennet’s first kiss with Darcy.
Wait a minute…
Mase pantomimes drinking. “Want one?” he mouths. I nod. “Want to come with?” he asks, speaking over the music.
I shake my head because I know he’ll come back. I won’t have to worry about being alone. So instead of following him or moving off the floor, I stay put, dancing by myself in the middle of the floor.
It’s definitely a first for me.
I don’t stay alone for long. A group behind me swallows me up, and one of the men, with drooping dark curls and tight jeans moves in before I can figure out how to stop him. He smiles at me with dark eyes, and on another night, I might not want to stop him from getting closer because Iamstunning.
I am beautiful and I am fun and I am happy.
