Page 118 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I put my hand in Colt’s. My heart shoots into my throat as his rough fingers encase mine and the clapping crowd parts for us while he leads me onto the dance floor.
“Andrea has great taste in music,” he remarks casually, but his shoulders seem stiff.
Is he nervous, too?
He puts a hand on my waist and I wish he’d pull mecloser instead of keeping a polite distance, but the wordfriendechoes in my head like a warning.
He said he’s here as my friend and I need to respect that.
“I’m sorry…” I glance at Andrea and then back at him. “Alcohol and Andrea never mix well.”
“And what’re you sorry for exactly, Spitfire?”
“T-that you’re forced to do this.”
He shakes his head sarcastically, lips pursed. “Oh no! I gotta dance with the most beautiful woman in the county! Damn, make that the whole world. What a punishment, right? Fuckin’ woe is me.”
Colt just called me beautiful for the second time tonight—and notjustbeautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world?! He’s probably trying to make me laugh, but it feels like my cheeks should be sparking flames.
Keep it cool, Hailey. Breathe and then hit him with a witty comeback.
“Well, in this dim light, some people might even callyouhandsome,” I tease.
He quirks a brow, smirking. “Areyousome people?”
“With all the alcohol in my blood, I might be.”
Colt takes the lead and doesn’t let me overthink any longer.
His confidence makes it seem like we’ve done this a hundred times, even if we’re both more than a little rusty. Occasionally, we bump knees or I step on his toes, but he spins me around and dips me until I relax and start giggling.
There’s a small break in the music before a much slower, romantic country song begins.
I glare over at Andrea by the DJ booth, but she gives me a double thumbs up and my eyes roll. I should’ve known her plan was much more devious than one dance.
The other song was fast and fun. But this one is?—
A firm hand on my waist turns my attention to Colt and butterflies surge in my belly as he pulls me close.Muchcloser than before.
Heat radiates off his body and I use the opportunity to bask in his addictive scent. His hand slides lower on my back, stopping above my ass, and I’m torn between relief and disappointment.
“We barely found our rhythm, Spitfire. I ain’t lettin’ you go yet,” he drawls.
The crowd fades into the background, the fairy lights overhead blurring into streaks of gold.
There’s just us and this song. This dance.
Colt lowers our entwined hands, pressing my palm to his heart, and my eyes widen when I notice his pulse. It’s rapid—like mine. Trembling, I lean my forehead against his broad chest and he rests his chin on the crown of my head.
This can’t be real life. I’m slow dancing with the man I used to hate more than anyone else—but I like it?
Wrong.
Iloveit.
No more bumping knees now. No more stepping on his toes. We’re in perfect sync, our bodies molding to one another as we spin gently.
We don’t speak, but there’s no need for words. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway.
