Page 17 of Play Dirty

“I do. And most guys don’t. So I fully admit to taking advantage of your willingness to humor me.”

“I enjoy dancing,” I respond. “I’ve just been told I’m not good at it.”

She arches one perfectly shaped brow. “Who told you that? Brenna?” She rolls her eyes when I nod. “Fuck her. Seriously, she doesn’t know anything. Personally, I like the way you move.”

“And I like your company.” I slide my arms around her waist and pull her closer.

“That goes without saying,” she says. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Emma talked about you fixing that bow in her headband nonstop. She won’t let me take it off.”

“She’s adorable.”

“They’re pretty great,” I admit. “But it’s nice to get away for a few hours and talk about something other than Bluey and hair bows.”

“Or we could just dance—without talking.”

“We can do that too.”

We move around the dance floor, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. She’s light on her feet, probably much more so than me, but it doesn’t feel hard to keep up—or to lead. Brenna never let me lead once she decided I wasn’t good at it, and it’s nice to be with a woman who doesn’t seem to mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ addresses everyone. “If you’ll clear the dance floor, the bride is going to toss the bouquet.”

Stevie slides her arm through mine, tugging me off the dance floor.

“But you’re single,” I say.

“Not getting married any time soon,” she responds.

“Come on, Stevie!” Effie grabs her arm and pulls her away from me before I can react.

“Bristol!” Rowan calls to her maid of honor and Bristol shakes her head vehemently.

“No no no.” Bristol mouths the word over and over, but Rowan won’t be deterred. She grabs her friend’s arm, whispering to her, and Bristol looks like she’s headed to an execution instead of a silly wedding ritual.

“If Effie catches it, I’m in trouble,” Connor says, laughing.

“Remember what I told you,” I remind him.

He just laughs and then puts his fingers to his mouth to let out a loud whistle. “Let’s see some action, ladies!”

Sometimes I forget he’s only nineteen.

Bristol is at the far back of the crowd of ladies, and Stevie and Effie are right in front, laughing about something.

Rowan turns her back, lifts her arm and tosses the bouquet.

It sails high, all the way to the back, right toward Bristol, who puts her hands up as if defending herself. The bouquet bounces up, Blake’s sister tries to grab it but it somehow bounces out of her hands, up in the air again as multiple hands grab it.

Then, as if it were manned by remote control, it very precisely makes a delicate landing—right on Stevie’s chest.

She blinks, surprised, and then somehow does a little wiggle—sending it gently into Effie’s waiting hands.

A cheer goes up and Stevie smiles as Effie lifts it.

Then her gaze falls on me, and I wink.

“Why do I find this hot?” Connor murmurs.

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