Page 43 of The Player in New Zealand
I leaned over toward Tane, resting my chin on his shoulder, and when he finished his sentence, he turned to look at me, blocking his family from my sight.
“Does your mom know this is a fake date?” I whispered right in his ear.
“No, why?”
“I think Nina and your mom are in cahoots.”
Tane looked at them too, but they were busy talking to each other now, trying too hard not to look at us, I thought.
Just then the volume of the music went up.
“Allllll right, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to hit the dance floor. Blake and Aroha are leading the way.”
“Well, then,” Tane said, pushing back his seat and standing up. “Let’s give them something to cahoot about.”
I laughed as Tane stripped off his jacket and tie. “Jill, Ari, you coming?”
Tane rolled his sleeves up—hello, forearms—while the rest of the men at the table followed suit, and then he led me out to the dance floor.
* * *
Hourslater we’d had dessert, danced more, and then Tane went back for another piece of cake while I spent some time off my feet.
“This is a really fun party,” I said, watching Tane shovel white frosted cake into his mouth by the forkful. He’d unbuttoned his shirt a bit more, showing off a peek of a tattoo on his chest and more tanned skin.
“You sure you don’t want more cake?” he asked between bites.
“Nah, thanks. It’s so sweet, it made my teeth hurt.”
Tane took the last bite and set the plate down, licking icing from his thumbs—how had he gotten icing everywhere?
Fake date, I thought as I watched his tongue a little too closely.
The music had been loud dance music for the most part, so we slipped back into the crowd. Nina was easy to find, and we all danced together for a few songs.
Then the beat shifted to a slow song. I swear, Nina looked like she wanted to push us together, but Tane moved before she did, slipping his hands around my waist.
My arms were already moving up to his neck as he bent down to whisper in my ear, “Dance with me.”
I pressed in close, twining my fingers together behind his head. With Tane’s height, I was just about eye level with the bare skin in the V of his shirt.
“Sorry I’m so sweaty,” he said.
His shirt was damp under my wrists, and beads of sweat had formed on his temples. “I don’t mind,” I assured him. “And you smell good.”
At that, Tane turned his head, kissing the soft skin on the inside of my elbow. The hairs on my arm rose, my stomach flipping.
I cleared my throat. The gesture had been so intimate, so tender. It was hard to remember that this wasn’t a real relationship. “Your mom watching?”
Tane didn’t even look around, his voice hoarse and low in my ear. “Yeah.”
We swayed together, and it was nice. It was nice to catch our breath, nice to have a quieter moment without the loud pumping bass, nice to have nothing to look at but Tane.
Nice to have the press of Tane’s body against mine, the warmth of him infusing the air around us.
Maybe it was more than nice. I licked my lips, and my attention wandered to the places we touched. I let my hand slide down along his shirt collar, let the edge slip between my two fingers. Accidentally, the pad of my finger brushed over his skin. This was the tattooed side, where geometric shapes swirled. I didn’t look up to see his face, but I heard a sharp inhale of breath as goose bumps covered the skin I could see.
Goddamn, I wanted to see the rest of the tattoo.
