Page 64 of Dating Goals
“Does he have ‘Professional Slimeball’ printed on his business card?”
I choke back a laugh. “Right below ‘World’s Most Punchable Face.’”
“Seriously,” she says, twisting her lip. “I need to wash my hand. I can still feel his lips on it.”
“Here,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “Let me help with that.” I brush my thumb over the spot where Malcolm kissed, as if erasing his touch.
Anika’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, everything else disappears again.
I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers as I trace circles on her wrist. Her skin is impossibly soft, and the way she’s looking at me right now, eyes glittering, lips inviting, a delicate flush spreading across her cheeks, makes my heart do a triple axel in my chest.
I’m suddenly hyperaware of how close we’re standing, how the soft lighting catches the gold flecks in her eyes, how her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat.
“Anika, I…”
“I need to use the restroom,” she blurts out and pulls her hand away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Right now. Immediately.”
“Oh. Sure.” I step back, giving her space. “Just try not to serenade anyone with Blondie this time. These fancy people might not appreciate it as much as I did.”
She gives me a little laugh that hits me square in the chest. “I’ll try to contain myself.”
Then she’s walking away, and I’m helpless to do anything but watch.
The midnight blue dress cascades down her body, the slit revealing a tantalizing glimpse of leg.
The back dips low, and I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to trace the constellation of freckles across her back with my fingertips.
My heart does a somersault when she glances back over her shoulder, catching me staring. Instead of the snarky comment I expect, she gives me a small, almost shy smile that knocks the air right out of my lungs.
I watch her weave through the crowd, turning heads as she goes. But it’s the confidence in her walk that really gets me. For someone who claims to be out of her element, she moves like she owns the place. Chin up, shoulders back, hips swaying justenough to make my mouth go slack. A few heads turn as she passes, and a possessive heat flares in my chest.
That’s my date, I want to shout. Mine.
When she finally disappears around a corner, I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
Holy hockey sticks. I’m in deep trouble here.
This was supposed to be simple. Help Anika learn to date. Spy on Malcolm Chase. Get information for the FIS. But nothing about this feels simple anymore. Not when my heart races every time she looks at me. Not when I can still feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine after that dance. Not when the thought of her practicing these date moves with some random guy named Thomas makes me want to punch a wall.
I grab a glass of water from a passing server and down it in one gulp. The cold liquid does nothing to cool the heat spreading through me.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I’m just her dating coach when every fiber of my being wants to be the guy she’s learning for. I can’t keep teaching her how to flirt and dance and hold hands with someone else when I want it to be me.
When she comes back, I’m telling her. No more games, no more practice dates. I’m laying it all out there. How I feel when she walks into a room, how her laugh makes my whole day better, how I’ve been falling for her since the moment she threatened me with a fish.
I grab another glass of water, mentally rehearsing what I’ll say. Something smooth and charming that doesn’t make me sound like a complete idiot. Something that won’t scare her away.
But who am I kidding? This is me we’re talking about. I’ll probably blurt out something ridiculous like “I think about you approximately 23.5 hours a day” or “Your face is my favorite face.”
Still, I have to try. Tonight. Before we leave this party. Before she goes on that date with Thomas. Before I lose my nerve.
I’ve faced down 100-mile-per-hour slap shots without flinching. I can handle telling a beautiful woman I’m crazy about her.
I hope.
The string quartet starts playing a tango, and I straighten my bow tie, eyes fixed on the corner where Anika disappeared. Any minute now, she’ll walk back into view, and I’ll tell her exactly how I feel.
No more coaching. No more pretending.
