Page 56 of Pack Choice
“What is my thing, then?”
“Superhero guy, the one that can scale skyscrapers in one leap. Can crush enemies in the palm of his hand.”
“The army was my thing,” I tell her. It was my passion. The place I belonged. “Serving my country was what I always wanted to do. Ever since I was a little kid.”
“Then why did you leave?”
“Things changed.”
She stares at me, waiting for me to say more. I wish I could. I wish I was one of those men – like her boss, like that racing driver – who could make words work for them. Maybe that’s why the military was so appealing. Actions speak louder than words when you’re a soldier.
“Come on,” she says, surprising me in the next instance by taking my hand. “Time you did have some fun.”
“Fun?” I don’t like the sound of that, but she doesn’t let go of my hand, pulling me back into the ballroom, where a band is now playing and the dance floor is already full.
Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber are hovering by the ballroom entrance. They’ve obviously been looking for the omega and relief spreads over their features when they see her. It’s temporary though, shifting to irritation when she pays them no attention and drags me across the ballroom.
By the time I realize where she’s leading me, it’s too late.
“I don’t dance,” I tell her as we reach the edge of the dance floor.
“Everybody dances.”
“Not me.”
She grins at me, eyes twinkling, dimple dimpling. “Fine,” she concedes when I don’t budge, “you can just stand there looking …” She waves her hand in my direction, eyes swimming over my body in a way that returns the heat to my blood. “And I’ll dance for the both of us.”
“We’ll look ridiculous,” I mumble as she begins to shimmy in front of me.
“So?”
She waves her hands around dramatically, swaying her body from side to side, then skips around me in circles.
The side of my mouth twitches. She does look ridiculous. There is more than one person looking in her direction like she may have lost her mind. But, I think I may love her for it. The way she doesn’t care what people think about her, what they’ll say about her.
“Okay,” I say as she lands back in front of me, “I’ll dance with you.” I take her hands in mine.
I haven’t danced with a woman since my high school prom and that was less about dancing and more about the opportunity to get up close and personal. I never learned how and I’m not sure now. It doesn’t seem to matter though. She twirls under my arm and then comes in close. Her scent fills my nose and sets the tip of my tongue tingling and I feel how soft she is under my hands. How alive. I can feel the warmth of her skin. The beat of her pulse. I can see the midnight-blue flecks in her eyes.
“You’re still not dancing,” she teases, sliding her arms around my neck in a way that has everyone else in this ballroom melting away.
“Aren’t I?” I grunt.
“No, you have to move your feet!”
“I have two left feet. I’m scared I’ll crush one of your toes.”
“Ford,” she says, and I like my name in her mouth. Would like to hear her moaning it. “I’ve seen how quickly you can move. You do not have two left feet.”
The edge of my mouth twitches again. Has she been watching me as closely as I’ve been watching her?
I shake my head, so she knows what a brat she’s being and then I do something that surprises both her and me. I lift her up and I spin her around. She squeals in delight, giggling madly until I place her back on her feet.
“Now I’m even more dizzy than I already was,” she breathes.
I want to kiss her.
I want to kiss her despite all the people around us. Despite the fact it isn’t professional. Despite knowing she deserves much better than me.
