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He lifted our hands and shoved his chair back. “Mend my heart by accepting this dance?”
Already dusting the crumbs from my lap, I eyed the uneaten remnants on our table. “You’re lucky my legs are getting restless and my stomach is full. I would’ve throttled your hot little ass.”
“Oh, so you’re think I’m hot, huh?”
“Couldn’t hurt to cheer you up a bit with the truth,” I winked.
“Up you go, baby. Dirty dance me into the night.” He patted my lower back—not my butt, which was still sexy but safe from impertinent territory—as I led him to the small dancefloor where the sultry music rooted in my veins.
A couple of minutes in, Misha’s lips came down onto my ear. “Should we call an ambulance?”
I pulled back from our position. “I left my phone in my purse. Why?”
“I think the dude next to us is having a stroke.”
I turned my head, but Misha anchored my cheek, not allowing me fully to see the zombie crawl out of Thriller. The warm palm of his hand lingered some.
“No! Don’t look. Maybe he’s resurrecting. Or has the guts to use those lousy dancing shoes. I don’t know!”
I burst out laughing, burying my head in his chest. “Thanks for the date. And your honesty.”
His hand trailed toward the back of my head, where he weaved his fingers into my dark hair. Then he planted a kiss atop my forehead. “Thanks for not making things weird.”
“Bi-eautiful new friendship, isn’t it?”
He playfully groaned. “Shut up, witch, and dance with me.”
20
ARES
I was an idiot. A humongous, dick-ish idiot.
Could I be more transparent?
Did you touch her?
Stab a knife in my back, will ya?
To type those sentences, send it and then delete it made me look like a giant jealous, intractable loser.
All emotions I warranted would erupt in my chest no more.
This girl made me collide with my safety net. I no longer felt like I would bounce back as much as I wanted to if I fell.
Rio was my blood. Misha, I’d known for as long as I’d tried to learn how to pee with morning wood.
But Misha was also out with Dita without telling me he wanted to go out with her. Twice now. She needed to be breakable as a twig but that wasn’t going to happen if Misha fucking Cavendish stood in her corner.
And I was pacing my room, losing my mind like a lunatic polar bear wanting to catch fish underneath five-inch ice. I wanted to run a hole into this floor for it to swallow me. To wipe away the doubts Dita planted.
Not even Hopitles or Ace lulled me to calmness.
“No offense, dudes.” I waved—like said loser—at the terrarium.
They didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up.
Sure, ignore Daddy.
