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Soft classical music wafts down on us from his father’s open bedroom window. It calms James as he sleeps.
Ryker backs up a little, cupping my cheek. He lowers his lips to mine and kisses me gently.
I again find myself wishing he’d lose control a smidge, kiss me hard and fast, like he can’t get enough.
He’s all about soft and slow, respectful, and don’t get me wrong, I love it. But sometimes I want him to kiss me like he means it. Maybe delve into the throes of passion and not hang out in the lukewarm zone.
We have a quiet love. But it’s love, all the same.
When it’s over, he says, “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”
I grab his hand as he turns. “Wait, dance with me.” It’s the perfect setting to sneak in some romance. A moonlit night and unexpected music tinkling around us.
He shakes his head. “I don’t dance. You know that, Mila.”
I do, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. “It’s just us. No one’s watching.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t dance whether someone is watching or not.”
I place my hands on my hips. “Really? Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t dance around your penthouse in a button-up shirt, underwear, and socks while doing a perfectRisky Businessslide across your glossy floors.”
No smile. No reaction whatsoever. “A what?”
Ryker’s not a movie watcher. He’s too busy. “Okay, so I haven’t seen the movie either, but haven’t you ever seen a video clip of the iconic Tom Cruise slide across the floor while lip syncing toOld Time Rock n’ Rollin his parents’ house when they aren’t home?”
“Can’t say that I have. Is it... entertaining?”
My mind is boggled by his question. “Never mind, it’s not important. But are you telling me you don’t dance when no one is watching? C’mon, Ryker. It’s the fun part of life. You don’t know what you’re missing,” I tease.
“No. No, absolutely not. I draw the line here,” he says with a raised voice. “I’m sorry, I don’t dance. Please don’t ask me to. As a matter of fact, don’t ever ask again. My answer will always be no.” His agitation reveals a crack in his polished exterior.
His reaction makes me take a step back. In all the time we’ve dated, he’s never directed his sharp business tone at me. I don’t like it.
“Excuse me?”
He rubs his temples in a circular motion. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
I can tell dancing is practically a phobia for him. My eyes blink heavily as this new knowledge sinks in.
He was out at strike three. This is strike four. His tone accounts for strike five.
I put my hands up in the air, a sign of peace. “I don’t mean to pressure you. No big deal. Some people don’t dance. I get it.”
“Thank you. It’s not something I’m comfortable doing. I would feel... silly,” he says, returning to his smooth voice.
“No worries.” Sometimes I wonder if he likes my playful side. I can’t curb it. It’s who I am. I often suspect he’s simply putting up with me, while waiting for my serious side to return. I have both inside me. Does he realize I’m a package deal?
He walks me to the car while I try to swallow more disappointment. It gets stuck in my throat this time, refusing to budge.
This has been a tough night all around.
But I’m not dating Ryker for his dancing skills, or lack thereof. He has many more traits that I love. Like the fact that he opened the car door for me and held my hand as I lowered myself into my seat. Even though I’m perfectly capable of doing those things, I appreciate his thoughtfulness. In the dating world, a gentleman is a dying breed.
I predict he’ll be a doting husband.
But... will he direct his sharp “business” tone at me when he’s upset? Hmmm, something to consider.
As we drive through the dark streets, I begin to wonder about Ryker’s mystery brother.
