Page 36 of Relationship Goals

“If this is the best first date you’ve ever had, then you’ve only dated real assholes.”

“As opposed to the fake assholes?” I raise my eyebrow. I’d meant it as a joke, but his cheeks go ruddy, and I stare at him in surprise.

“Do you like to dance?” he asks, and I blink at the non sequitur.

“What?”

“You like music, so I wondered if you liked to dance.”

“Don’t you also like music?”

“Yeah.” He scratches his neck, still looking at me like he’s surprised I’m sitting next to him.

“What kind of music do you like?” I prod.

“Classic rock, mostly. Whatever’s on the radio when I get in the car. Whatever the guys want to listen to in the gym.” He shrugs a shoulder.

“We can’t forget the cello when you’re alone,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows, unable to stop myself.

“Of course we can’t,” he says, and something like a smile plays across his lips.

“I do like to dance,” I finally tell him. “I’m not the best at it, but I’ve had to fake my way through lessons for work.”

“I bet you’re good at it.” He smiles at me now, his whole face transforming, and oh god, he’s so nice to look at.

“Dancing? Or faking it?” I ask, screwing my lips up to one side.

“Both. But I meant dancing.” He holds out a hand, and I stare at it for a long moment.

Realization dawns.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“Yeah.” He nods, standing up, still reaching out for me. “Do you know the kitchen dance?”

“The kitchen dance?” A laugh bubbles out of me. “Is that like the chicken dance?” I take his hand, tucking the other under my arm and flapping it like a chicken.

Embarrassment brings heat to my cheeks, and I cringe, closing my eyes. Did I seriously just do the chicken dance? In front of this guy I have a crush on? No wonder all my first dates were so crappy.

“Is Dante’s fifth circle of hell for bad dates?”

“Wow. I really went from one of your best first dates to the fifth circle of hell. Incredible work,” he says dryly.

My head tips back as I laugh, and I finally take his hand. Warm, strong fingers close around mine, and I let him pull me to my feet, avoiding another near spill off the stool.

Luke moves gracefully, pulling one arm over my head and spinning me around easily. I’m grinning like a fool, following his surprisingly smooth lead as we dance in the warm silence of my kitchen, our meal abandoned on the counter.

Easy.

Despite his tough demeanor, that crusty, grumpy exterior, being with Luke Wolfe is as natural as breathing.

Easy as dancing barefoot around the kitchen and laughing as he dips me, then has me up and spinning again. His hands are warm on my waist, on my fingers, his smile slight and intoxicating all the same.

“Let me guess,” I say on a laugh, “you’re thinking of Yo-Yo Ma right now.”

That gruff laugh is the only answer he gives, and it feels like a reward.

When he finally stops, we’re both breathing slightly hard, and I’m fairly sure it’s not just from physical exertion.

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