Page 25 of Exes Don't

Anton

Holland spins Rose, and she catches sight of me. Her eyes widen, and I’m momentarily sucked into their dazzling blue depths.

“Can I cut in?” My voice is firmer and more growly than I intend. But whatever. I’m a man close to drowning, and if sounding angry is my life raft, so be it.

“Sure.” Holland is all easy smiles and dimples. I want to punch him in the mouth. “Thanks for the dance, Rosie.” He bobs his chin at her, and she smiles back.

I flinch at their evident rapport, at his easy use of her nickname. There was a time when I had a nickname for her. It was my own—between the two of us.

Rose says goodbye to Holland, and as soon as he steps to the side, I grab her hand, spinning her out and pulling her back into me.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the rosy color that rushes to her cheeks as I pull her in close. I’ve surprised her, thrown her off her game.

Good.

I won’t let myself think about how amazing it feels to have her back in my arms. I won’t let my brain flip through the memories of our first date, holding her close on the high school gym floor, sharing our first kiss later that night, after a dinner of brisket with white sauce, and conversation that lasted into the early morning hours.

We fall into a familiar step. My muscle memory is strong where Rose is concerned, but I can’t let myself get pulled under her spell again. I know how it’ll end.

We dance in silence, neither one of us making eye contact with the other. I lead her in a full circle around the room before she finally looks at me.

“Thought you told me to leave you alone.” There’s a challenge in her voice.

I don’t rise to it, instead using the music to execute a perfect turn-out, guiding her away from my body and bringing her back. Close. Her breath hitches, but she recovers quicker than I’d like.

“I was doing my part. Observing. Watching from afar. Trying to get my finger on the pulse of Anton Bates’s life. It’s been riveting thus far.”

She’s baiting me. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of appearing affected, though I am absolutely dying to know what she thinks of my life. What she thinks of me after all these years.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve found out?”

I shift my jaw but don’t respond.

“Oh, come on, Anton. You’re the one who asked to dance with me, and now what? You’re giving me the silent treatment.”

“Do you talk as a rule while dancing?” The words come out unbidden.

Her response is immediate. She sucks in a breath and then narrows her gaze before a grin slashes across her face.

Dang it.

That smile has more force than the sun. It could power the entire Penwick solar grid.

I’m helpless against it.

I fight against the quirk of my own mouth.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I respond too quickly.

“Not nothing.” Rose clicks her tongue. “Sounds to me like you’re a modern-day Mr. Darcy. Might have to use that in the article.”

“There isn’t going to be an article,” I snap. “That’s what I came over here to tell you. Funny enough, I was chatting with your sister”—Rose’s step falters—“and she had no idea you were here for work. What gives with that?”

If it wasn’t for the acceleration of her breath, she’d appear nonplussed, but I can tell I rattled her. What I don’t get is why she wouldn’t tell her family about her writing gig.

“Why bore her with the details of my freelance work?” Rose says breezily.

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