Page 52 of Letters of Faith
Her giggle is a balm for my soul.
“Well, if you’re the one who taught him, then I feel sorry for my poor toes tonight. He was abysmal.”
Wiggling my brows, I send her a smoldering look and tip my lips up in a smile.
“He was just a bad student, but I have skills. Just you wait.”
She purses her lips, trying to hide her smile, but fails miserably.
“I guess you’ll just have to prove it then.” She takes my hand, walking us to the dance floor.
Once we are in the middle of the crowd, I pull her to me, placing one of her hands around my neck and keeping the other in mine. I slip my arm around her waist, lightly placing my hand against her back, and when the music changes beats, I lead us around the dance floor, gliding between the other dancers. Georgia’s eyes go wide as she lets me lead. We move together like we were meant for each other, and I can’t ever remember another time when I’ve been as happy as I am atthis moment. The thing about guys like me, though, is that it all comes crashing down sooner or later, but until that moment, I’ll enjoy the feel of Georgia in my arms.
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“I’m going to grab us a drink,” I say to Georgia, bending my head so she can hear me above the noise. “I’ll meet you over at the fireplace.”
We’ve been on the dance floor for over an hour. Tendrils of hair have escaped from her ponytail and curl around her face. Her cheeks are red from exertion, and she’s prettier now than when we started the night.
Georgia nods, and I leave her to find a place to sit while I weave through the crowd to grab us drinks. The bar is crowded when I reach it, and I have to squeeze in between two other men for the server to see me. I lift my hand to flag him down, and he gives me a nod of acknowledgment, letting me know he will be over when he’s done with his current order.
Turning, I rest my elbows on the bar and take in the people around me. Being an hour away, there’s no one here that we know, but that doesn’t stop the feeling of inadequacy from creeping up and smothering me. Despite having more money than I could ever spend now, I still feel out of place in a room full of people who have it. They can smell the lower-class blood that still runs through my veins.
As I take in the room, someone slides in beside me at the bar. I turn my head, and there’s a woman there, pressing closer to me than necessary. I try to step to the side, but people on the other side prevent me from putting any space between us.
“Hi,” she says, placing a hand on my arm resting on the bar.
“Good afternoon,” I say, standing so her hand falls away.
Her face falls for a second before she gives me a sly, flirtatious smile that I’ve seen on a hundred other women, but just like this one, they never impress me because all I can imagine is Georgia’s green eyes anddark hair staring back at me.
I’ve been on a hundred dates, but nothing compares to Georgia’s smile.
My eyes travel across the room, searching for Georgia and effectively dismissing the woman beside me. I find her sitting on the couch closest to the fireplace, a book already in hand. She’s immersed in her book, but she must feel the weight of my stare because, after a couple of seconds, she glances up and looks straight at me. Unfortunately, the woman beside me chooses that moment to rest her hand on my arm again.
Georgia’s brows dip, causing a pucker between them before she pulls her attention back to the book in her hand.
Grinding my molars, I look back to the woman who is not getting the hint.
“Remove your hand from my arm.”
My voice is deadly. The woman looks taken aback but drops her hand immediately. A few people around the bar stop and stare, but I don’t care. Annoyance causes every one of my muscles to tighten as I take in the woman beside me.
“I apologize. You seemed like you could use the company,” she giggles.
“You see that woman right over there?” I ask, pointing to Georgia. “That woman is my company. Take it from me: when a man wants your company, he won’t shy away from your touch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to join my girl.”
The server approached while I was speaking, so I place my order, hand over my card, and within minutes, I’m on my way back to the girl of my dreams.
When I get closer, though, her brows are still pinched together. I watch her as I approach. She reads the same page at least twice before huffing and closing the book.
“I got you a drink,” I say, offering her the glass as I sit down beside her.
Taking a drink, she sits silently, looking around her.
“You want to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” I ask.
Tilting her chin up and away from me, she says, “Not particularly.”
