Sliding my hand into his large one, I immediately note the differences to Foster’s. Shaking off my thoughts, I offer a bright smile. “Ready.”
Kane leads me from the table to make our way to the dance floor, Doc trailing behind. Passing Foster, I force my eyes to stay straight ahead, but can’t help but notice in my peripheral vision the blonde still standing with him. The only difference is that her hands aren’t on him. Small mercy. Though I feel the weight of his gaze, I force myself to remain cool and collected.
As soon as we get to the dance floor in front of the elevated stage where the live band is playing, they begin their cover of Fall Out Boy’s, “Sugar We’re Going Down.” Instantly, I work my way closer to the stage since I love this song. Once I get to a spot I’m satisfied with, I sing along with Doc and Kane who, surprisingly, know all the words.
We end up getting silly and the two of them take turns twirling me every so often. One song turns into another and another. Finally, the three of us declare we need drinks and a quick breather from dancing.
Just as we turn to head back to the table, the band begins to play the cover of Gwen Stefani’s, “Sweet Escape,” and their female lead singer is killing it. As Laney and the other girls rush over to us, I attempt to yell over the music, trying to communicate to Kane and Doc that they’re good to go, that the girls will be joining me. They nod and I turn back to face the stage, singing along and dancing as I wait on the ladies to make their way to me.
When I feel hands at each side of my hips, I start, feeling a thumb sliding back and forth before a familiar voice speaks close to my ear. “I’m sorry I got held up.” Then, after a brief pause he adds, “She doesn’t matter to me.”
And I do?
My attempted shrug does nothing to budge him. When I try to pull from his embrace and fail, I turn my head, exasperated, and shout, “I’m disgusting and sweaty.” I mean, really. I know he can feel the slight dampness through the fabric of my dress. Not to mention, I’m sure my makeup’s on its way to melting off my face.
Oh, and the looks I’m getting from Laney and the others? Yeah, they need to work on the whole I’m watching this go down discreetly thing. As in, the whole discreetly thing? Fail. Major fail, ladies.
“You’re beautiful. No amount of sweat can deter from that.” With that, he steps away, his hands releasing me, and I’m instantly bereft, missing his touch.
I hate that. Hate the fact that I’m beginning to get some sort of addiction to this man. A guy who is a confirmed bachelor. Who is so adamantly opposed to relationships.
When will I ever learn? When, damn it?
Apparently not now. Foster pulls me toward him, into his embrace, as the band slows it down and plays Sam Hunt’s, “I Met A Girl.” He reaches up, brushing back some stray hair from my face, eyes holding mine, then he goes and shocks the hell out of me.
Foster actually sings part of the chorus to the song as we dance, about meeting a blue-eyed girl who’s changing his world. And, as he sings—albeit somewhat out of tune—the entire time, his eyes don’t leave mine. As though he’s singing to—and about—me.
Damn it. How the hell am I supposed to not fall for him when he does crap like this? I mean, he shouldn’t be singing those freaking lyrics to me. Doesn’t he know what that kind of thing does to a girl?
When the song ends and the band begins playing a faster paced song, I’m torn. Because while it felt incredible being held by Foster as we danced, while he sang, and the way he was watching me, the wiser part of me pings my brain with a sharp reminder.
Foster Kavanaugh might make me feel incredible right now, but the man is incredibly dangerous.
To my heart.
Chapter Forty-One
Foster
“You sure you want to head back to your place?” I know I’ve asked her this multiple times, but I can’t help it. I really like having her at my house. In my bed.
She lets out a long sigh. “For the one point five millionth time, Foster, yes.” I hear the dry amusement in her tone.
“You know my bed is better.” I don’t take my eyes off the road since I know there’s a likelihood of people driving who’ve had too much to drink and didn’t make the right choice of having a designated driver or taking a cab. Even so, I feel the weight of her gaze, know there’s a good chance she’s giving me the look that screams, Really, Kavanaugh?
“Did you really just say that?” At her tone, I grin in the darkness of the truck. Called it.
“It’s the truth.”
“You’re full of it.”
“Of greatness, you mean?”
“Yeah. That’s totally what I mean.” I can practically feel her rolling her eyes at me.
Pulling into her driveway, I park and get out to come around to help her down, letting my eyes linger on her legs, looking unimaginably long in those heels she’s wearing.
“Eyes up here, Kavanaugh.”
Meeting her laughing eyes, I cock an eyebrow. “The view’s equally as nice down there.”