“Do you really think he’s going to show?” Quinn asked as she struggled to get the special dance shoes the center had loaned to us strapped to her feet.
“He said he was.” I pulled the strap a little tighter before securing it. I didn’t need these puppies flying off when I flicked my cankle. “If he doesn’t, Conrad will probably shit his gallbladder.”
I looked down the line at the three other friends who had signed up for this Latin Dance experience over a month ago. Everyone was wearing a dress that was showier than any of us would ever wear out in public—except for Quinn, who’d gone with a sensible pair of slacks. As we finished strapping on our shoes, Quinn’s phone pinged in her pocket. I gave her a look as she pulled it out; most everyone who’d text her after work hours was here.
“Who’s—” My eyes went wide when I glanced at her screen. “Is that the Justin? The one who peddles our morning fix and you’ve been pining over for months?”
Quinn angled her phone out of my eyesight as she punched in a response. “We don’t know any other Justins. So yeah, it’s the Justin.”
“And what is The Justin texting you about?” My hand dropped to her knee. “Wait. How does he have your number to begin with?”
“I gave it to him,” she said as she seemed to be typing the longest text in recent history.
“He asked for it because . . . ?”
Her eyes flicked to mine for a second. “In case he got some more basketball tickets and couldn’t find anyone else to go with him.”
My eyes lifted. “In case he wanted to ask you out on a date.”
“As friends.”
“As friends who have a secret crush on each other,” I mumbled, checking the door for Brooks.
“He doesn’t have a secret crush on me.”
“Of course not. That’s why, in a city brimming with single women who would auction a kidney to go on a date with The Justin, he asked for your number so he could ask you on a date.”
Quinn studied her phone’s screen. “He isn’t asking me on a date. He’s asking me to a basketball game.”
My hands covered my face as my head shook. “How can you be so clueless?”
“Having Ms. Romance for a best friend is really obnoxious sometimes.” Quinn rose from the bench, immediately holding her arms out like she was balancing on a tightrope. Or a pair of high heels. “And I’m not the only clueless one apparently, because neither of us have tallied up a whole lot of dates in the past couple of years.”
My eyes narrowed at her in feigned anger. “I’ve been on plenty of dates lately.”
“Fake dates,” Quinn stated. “Which is worse than no dates.”
“You. Suck.” As I rose, I found myself experiencing the same problem Quinn had with balance. I wore heels, but not the kind with a point so narrow it might as well have been a toothpick. And how was one supposed to walk in these? Let alone tango?
The two instructors at the front of the room winced as they watched Quinn and I take our first steps. Maybe we would have been wiser to attend a line dance lesson.
The sound of a door opening drew my attention. Along with the rest of the females in the room.
“Slap me stunned.” Quinn wobbled toward me. “He showed.”
Jimmy followed Brooks, already fiddling with the camera strapped on his head.
“And that man does not suck in a suit.” Quinn’s elbow jabbed my arm like I hadn’t noticed how very not sucky he looked in his tailored dark suit and crisp white dress shirt, walking in like he owned the place. And the planet.
As Jimmy ambled toward the instructors to explain and get the okay to film, I did my best to look at Brooks without staring. It was difficult. Only made more so when I realized how many people I’d looked at in my lifetime without stressing over whether I was staring, inspecting, or regarding.
Brooks headed toward me, his eyes roaming my dress with an expression that hinted at approval. Not that I cared. Not that I wouldn’t have preferred disapproval where his opinion was concerned.
“You came,” I said when he stopped in front of me, the scent of him as dumbfounding as the sight.
“You sound surprised.”
“It’s an introduction to tango with a roomful of women.” I motioned around the room. In addition to my friends, there were a good dozen other single women ranging from my age to knocking on funeral home doors.
“What man has ever frowned upon a roomful of women?” Brooks angled in closer, his eyes sparking mischievously. “And some guys might not enjoy dancing, but they likely didn’t have a mother who loved to dance and begged her teenage son to tag along with her to dance classes on Thursday nights.”
My eyebrows lifted. “You? You took dance lessons?”
“I was coerced, forced, begged, and bribed, but yes, I took dance lessons.” Brooks checked over where Jimmy was still chatting with the instructors.
“Wow.” My hand circled him. “This whole severe image of you I have is beginning to crumble.”
He sighed, looking as though he regretted divulging his secret. “I’m more surprising than I am predictable. You know, in case you’re planning on leaping to any more conclusions regarding who I am.”
I tapped my temple. “Noted.”
Brooks stepped back, his gaze roaming me again as his chin dimple made an appearance. “I like that dress, but I love it on you.”
Warmth seeped into my limbs as I struggled to maintain my unfazed expression. “They said to dress femme fatale, not like I was showing up for an interview at an escort company.” Pulling up on the neckline, I simultaneously pulled down on the hem. I hadn’t felt this uncomfortable when I slipped into the dress earlier; why did I feel half-naked now?
“Femme fatale.” His arms thrust at me. “Personified.”
“Really?” I asked, still pulling at my dress every which way.
“Really. Escorts don’t dress like this.”
“How would you know?”
“Most of the entire female population loathes me based on my relationship ideology, so the only way I get any these days is if I pay for it.” He dropped his mouth to my ear. “Or I find a woman in a hotel bar to take pity on me.”
“You really pay for sex?”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “We all pay for sex. Some people are smarter than the rest and choose to exchange cash instead of sentiments. Money for sex is cheaper in the long run.”
“Until you get the clinic bill,” I said under my breath as the instructors announced the start of class.
A chuckle rumbled in Brooks’s chest as Jimmy started toward us. The instructors talked for a few minutes, giving demonstrations of the beginning steps we’d be practicing, but I didn’t hear a thing.
When we were instructed to pair up, Riley nudged me. “Introduce us.”
Friends. Introductions. Reattach spinal column to brain.
“Brooks, these are my friends,” I started, going down the line. “Riley, Sybill, Annie, and Quinn, you know from work.”
Quinn was the only one who didn’t smile as she was introduced. She went with the opposite.
“I’m not sure what the protocol is for the one guy at a dance lesson in a roomful of women.” He leaned into me. “I’m going to need a little guidance.”
“You dance with us all,” Sybill chimed in, stepping in front of Brooks. “Hannah won’t mind,” she added when Brooks glanced at me.
I forced a smile instead of yanking out a chunk of my good friend’s hair like my inner demon suggested. “Hannah doesn’t mind.”
Brooks’s head angled toward mine. “Hannah really doesn’t mind or is just saying that when she really does mind?”
My back stiffened. “She really doesn’t mind.”
“She’s sure? Because she kind of has that violent gleam in her eye that makes me nervous for my manhood and its ability to create offspring if I partner up with a bunch of other women on our date.” Brooks’s finger tapped the corner of my eye, his touch sending a ripple of sensation through me.
I stepped aside at the same time I pushed Sybill closer to him. “You have nothing to worry about there. I will not be coming anywhere close to your manhood, to damage it or otherwise.”
Jimmy shot me a wink as he adjusted himself so the camera was aimed at all three of us. If he was hoping to catch a catfight in the making, he was focused on the wrong women.
Brooks turned his attention to Sybill, his hands gliding into place after guiding hers where they were supposed to be. He said something that made her laugh before leading her around the dance floor, Jimmy doing his best to keep up with them.
“Come on.” Quinn hobbled in front of me, holding up her arms. “I’ll be the Johnny to your Baby.”
I stepped into her arms and placed my hands where I guessed they were supposed to go. “You’re a sad substitute for Patrick Swayze.”
“And you’re no Jennifer Gray, sweet cheeks. Just dance.” Quinn winced when we moved and I stepped on her foot. “And pretend we’re having the time of our lives . . .” She sang the last few words as we tripped, clomped, and stomped our way around the dance floor.
The instructors stopped by at first to give us some pointers, but their intervention fizzled out when they accepted Quinn and I moved like drunk elephants instead of budding dancers.
“You’re staring. Again.” Quinn pinched my waist, spinning us so my back was to him.
After Brooks had gone through all of my friends—save for Quinn, who smiled through telling him she’d rather dance with a human-sized arachnid—he was now making it through the rest of the single women in the place. Women who held no kind of allegiance to me. Clearly. The last woman had been attempting a different kind of tango with him.
“I’m just seeing where Jimmy’s at. I hate when he sneaks up on me with that camera.”
“I don’t know how you deal with that. I’m freaking out I’ve got a booger sticking out of my nose every time he aims that thing toward us.” Quinn sniffed, rubbing her nose. “I guess it will all be worth it when he loses and you get the promotion.”
Brooks moved back into my line of sight again. “Totally.”
“Ouch!” Quinn yelped, hopping on one foot as she rubbed the one I’d stepped on. Again. “I’m over it. This expanding our horizons and branching out stuff is for the birds.” She peeled off the heels and limped over to the benches where a few other dancers had called it quits.
She was right, at least where tonight’s experiment in trying something new was concerned. Bowling had been fun, country karaoke had been tolerable. Hell, even water aerobics at the retirement center had been Oscar-worthy compared to tonight’s soiree. Though my opinion on the matter might have been swayed by the fact I’d watched Brooks dance with every other female in this room, including the instructor, except for me, the woman he was dating.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I jolted. Brooks had an annoying talent of being able to appear out of thin air. “As far away from this dance floor as I can get.”
“But we haven’t danced yet.” Brooks crept in front of my path, forcing me to stop or crash into him.
Braking to a stop, I shot him a look. “I’ll be sure to shed some tears for that later. When I’m asleep.”
“Someone’s notably grumpier now than they were earlier.” His eyes narrowed in an investigative kind of way. “Methinks you weren’t totally forthcoming about you minding if I danced with other women.”
Jimmy was leaning in, our ever-present third wheel, but I didn’t feel the need to lower my voice. “Methinks you were onto something when you expressed trepidation over your manhood’s functioning properties after tonight.”
Brooks let out a low whistle. “Under the right circumstances, those words, from that mouth, would be such a turn-on.”
“The right circumstances being what? Your standing appointment with a dungeon and a dominatrix?”
One dark brow lifted. “Bad kitty.”
“No. Grumpy cat.” I circled my face before going around him.
His arm whipped out, cinching around my waist to draw me back to him. “Let’s see if I can help with that.” His hand found mine, lifting it, while his other secured at my back, bringing me closer. And closer.
And . . .
“Brooks,” I hissed, remembering the camera before I put into words what I’d just felt.
He didn’t appear the slightest bit fazed. “What was that about my functioning manhood?”
“I don’t want to feel it digging into my stomach when I’m trying to focus on tangoing.”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn that dress.”
“And we’ll lump that in the category known as victim-blaming,” I muttered, trying to ignore the hard swell rubbing against my midsection.
“It’s not your fault my dick has a thing for your dress.” Brooks didn’t lower his voice at all. “It’s his fault, one hundred and ten percent. Total case of dick-blaming right here.”
My mouth worked to keep from smiling, but it was impossible. What person could talk about reproductive organs like they were discussing their weekend plans? Who casually mentioned their hard-on like they were reciting their lunch order?
Focusing on something, anything other than a certain part of him pressed all-too-close to a certain part of me, I reminded myself to dance. Or attempt the closest rendition I was capable of with the case of grace impairment I had. Somehow, the man managed to lead me across a dance floor without making me look like a three-legged giraffe.
“You have to let me lead,” he instructed when I stepped on his toes.
“Okay, please.” My eyes rolled as we danced, Jimmy creating his own kind of fluid movement to keep up with us. “You guys always say that, like that’s going to solve the whole dance problem. How do I let you lead when I don’t know where we’re going?”
His hand at my back pressed in a little deeper. “By trusting me.”
I exhaled out loud. “Trusting the man trying to trick me to fall in love with him? Trusting him?”
His hands moved as he bowed me back. So far I was certain he was aiming to hit my head against the floor. His eyes hovered above mine, the look in them making my throat dry. “You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you be if our positions were reversed?” I whispered.
Drawing me back into a vertical position, he was quiet. Contemplative. “Let’s attempt something different then.” His voice was quiet as he guided me across the floor, away from Jimmy. “Let’s try dating without all of the people watching?”
I checked to make sure Jimmy was out of hearing range. “Like a real date? Not one live-streamed to the masses?”
“The very kind.”
My fingers curled into his shoulder. “Conrad wouldn’t like it.”
“Conrad won’t need to know.”
Jimmy was almost beside us when Brooks took a surprise turn and practically carried me in the opposite direction.
“And you won’t tell anyone?”
His head moved beside mine. “Not a soul.”
“You can keep a secret?”
“Have I told anyone about your present living situation?” His brow lifted. “Or that one night in Chicago?”
My teeth fretted at my lower lip. “What’s your agenda with these real dates?”
“To get to know the real you. For you to get to know the real me. For us to see what’s really there.”
“And what if there is?” I asked. “Something there?”
“Then we can decide where to go from there.” Brooks shot Jimmy a grin as we rushed by him again, Brooks moving more like a world-class sprinter than a ballroom dancer.
“It can’t go there.” I put my face in front of his. “A proclamation of love. A declaration to the world.”
“Why not?”
I blinked at him. “Because you bet my boss you’d get me to fall in love with you with a job at stake.”
His shoulder rose beneath my hand. “And what if the job isn’t important anymore? What if I had the option to choose between the job and you?”
My eyes lifted. What in the world were we considering? “Well, that wouldn’t happen and you wouldn’t choose me. With the situation we’re in, the stakes what they are, I can’t ever trust what you say to me when it comes to feelings.” My head throbbed in conjunction with my feet, and I cast a look over Brooks’s shoulder to see where Jimmy was. Poor guy was having a tough time keeping up, and he couldn’t exactly jog without making viewers feel like they were on a trampoline. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. It will only complicate things. Which are already complicated.”
“Let’s try it,” he said, knotting his fingers tighter around mine. “If nothing else, by the end of it, I might manage to convince you I’m not the cold-hearted ego-trip you’ve arrived at.”