He stared at me for a moment, with an intensity in his eyes that almost made me lose my breath, before he dropped his gaze back to his drink. “Okay… it’s not about proving anything to Des… it’s about proving it to myself. I loved somebody once, thought she was gonna be my wife, and have my kids… all of that.” He glanced up at me with a dry smile. “I need a do-over, and I think your service can facilitate that, while helping me make sure I don’t get screwed over again… I don’t think I could handle that.”
A fresh wave of guilt swept over me as he carefully avoided my eyes by taking another long drag from his Jameson. Avery was — inadvertently, I was sure — laying out his vulnerabilities to me, and he was depending on me to help him through it.
“Avery… again, I’m sorry about things not going as anticipated. I’m sure we—”
“Tori, stop. I’m not concerned about that, and you shouldn’t be either. I told you, I trust you to make it happen.” His vote of confidence brought a bit of relief, but he wasn’t done. He turned on his stool so he was fully facing me, and brushed my hair out of my face, allowing the hand to linger at the base of my neck, sending a pleasant hum of electricity from every place our skin met. “Although… I don’t understand why we can’t just—”
“Avery….”
He blew out a heavy sigh as he removed his hand. “I know, I know. Science, and algorithms, I remember.”
I averted my eyes, feeling guilty, again, about misleading him. I hated lying, but just like I was keeping our previous antics a secret from Des, I didn’t feel like it would be wise for Avery to know the ‘science and algorithms’, as he put it, did match up. What would it accomplish?
“Come dance with me.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I turned back to Avery as he was stepping away from his seat. “Dance with you?”
“Are you a parrot?” He laughed at the scowl that crossed my face, using my moment of annoyance to catch me off guard by slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me off my barstool. “You owe me a little grinding, remember?”
“Oh no, I don’t owe you, excuse you! Besides, these shoes are not meant for dancing,” I argued, directing his attention to the four-inch heels I’d chosen to complete my outfit.
He stepped closer as he gazed down at me. “Just a few songs?”
It struck me, quite suddenly, that even in my heels, Avery was still tall enough to have to look down at me, wearing the hell out of salmon-colored button up and a tan blazer. He looked good, as always, and he smelled good, as always, and — to my annoyance— he felt good, as always, from his large hands resting at my waist, to the heat radiating from his body, which was almost touching mine.
“Yes.”
Wait, What?
Ignoring the nagging voice saying “Tori, this is another bad decision”, I allowed Avery to lead me to the restaurant’s surprisingly crowded dance floor. Ignoring everything except the beat of the awful popular hip-hop song, I began dancing, not minding when Avery pulled me closer to his body as I rolled my hips. I laughed and danced with him through song after song, as the music got slower and more suggestive until finally, one was queued up that made me cringe. Not because I didn’t like it — quite the opposite— it was one I kept on a very specific playlist, that wasn’t getting much use these days. The lyrics, paired with the singers voice, the instrumentation and the beautiful harmonies were, for me, the musical equivalent of mind-blowing sex, and I did not want to dance with Avery to this song. Why the hell was the DJ playing this anyway? Was he trying to get people pregnant?
I tried to pull away, but Avery drew me closer, leaning down to mumble against my ear, “Last one, then we can go.”