Page 61 of Actually Yours

“Well,” she continues, “he’s a friend of Daniel’s, who was here tonight and is apparently ‘perfect’ for me.”

I flinch at that word, being used again to describe a man for Amelia. A man who isn’t me.

“And the other guy?”

“He’s the electrician. The one I went out with last week and never returned his calls.”

My breath whooshes out at this titbit of information. The date from last week, the one before the best haircut I’d ever had, was the same man who she didn’t call back. Suddenly, I’m loving this conversation.

“And they’re both here tonight?”

Her look mirrors my own. Total shock mixed with the horror of it all. “I know, right? What are the chances?”

I indicate for her to look around. “Pretty high, considering most of Melbourne has turned up tonight.”

She twirls on her heels, doing a full 360-degree turn before facing me. “Apparently, we run with a pretty popular crowd.” Her nose scrunches up in that adorable way as she beams up at me.

“Not me.” I smile back at her, tucking a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, stroking the soft skin of her jaw as I go. She shivers and I notice. “Steven dragged me here. He’s the popular one.”

She laughs again, her sexy, gets-under-my-skin laugh. “If it weren’t for Steven, I’d probably never see you.”

“You want to see me?” My voice is flirty and I move a step closer to her, all thoughts of moving on and forgetting her clearing out of my head.

She tilts her head, examining me. “Where are your glasses?

Her question throws me and I touch my face, confused for a millisecond. “My glasses?”

“I hardly ever see you out without them,” she frowns, looking annoyed.

“I’m wearing contacts. Thought it would look better with the suit.”

Her shoulders shrug and her earrings jangle as she shakes her head. Vehemently. “I like your glasses.”

That’s it, I’m super-gluing them to my face! Anything to keep that look on hers!

“O-K.” I draw the word out, my heart thumping in my chest. “Glasses it is.”

“Good,” she replies. It’s sorted. “Now what?”

I wrench my gaze away from her, specifically from that smattering of freckles, so nicely on display across her small nose. “Do you want to dance?”

“Dance?” she mutters the word under her breath, deliberating. “With you?”

I chuckle. “No, with the man mountain and his friend the electrician.”

She thumps me on the arm.

“Yes, with me.” I’m back to serious now. Ireallywant to dance with her.

“OK.” Her front teeth bite into her bottom lip. I pick up her hand, guiding her to the dance floor, which is overflowing with couples swaying in time to the crooners on stage.

“I didn’t know this ball was going to be this extravagant,” she says as we edge our way into the middle of the dancefloor. “I was expecting a DJ, but not this.” She points to the three Italian men singing in perfect harmony, accompanied by a full jazz band.

I pull her close to me, my hands settling on her hips like they were always meant to be there. Her arms loop around my neck and I can’t help it; I pull her even closer until there’s a mere millimetre of space between us. She looks up at me, her heels raising her to my collarbone, the perfect height for me to gaze at her beautiful face up close.

“I love this song,” she whispers.

Quieting the ringing in my head, the sound that plays on a loop whenever she’s nearby, I listen. “I don’t think I know it.”

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