The Love Coupon (Stubborn Hearts 2)

didn’t soar too much or wail too much, he didn’t have to dance so much as rock side to side, take the tiniest steps, like in junior high, with Flick resting her face on his chest and letting him move her backward in an ever-decreasing circle.

He got comfortable, and when the song changed, he was already dancing. This next track had an electronic Latin beat. A guy singing, “No vacancy.” Flick took his hand and stepped away, swinging her hips and moving her feet, a samba, a salsa, he didn’t know, only that she smiled and tossed her head and she made him want to move too. They both laughed when the guy sang a line about being done with sharing with people he didn’t know. It was written for them. They danced through that track and the next one and the sounds bled together, but the beat stayed in his head and used up all the space there that he’d been devoting to problems he couldn’t yet solve.

If they kept dancing like this, getting hotter, freer, it would reset him. Flick got on the table and he could touch more of her, get his hands all over her, look in her eyes. It would set him straight, but first it was going to use him up. This woman and her way of talking him into things he didn’t want to do, leading him to places he had no business being.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do things to her to make her feel good, but that was another of her sideshow alley tricks, making him want her, and he wasn’t drunk—a little numb, a lot easier about Rendel and the decision he needed to make, but not foolish enough to go back on what they’d agreed. It was right for both of them.

They danced until the playlist ran out and they were both thirsty and Flick wanted to sit, and without the music it was two roommates who’d shared a meal, had fun together on a Friday night.

“I’ll clean up,” she said.

“Leave it.” He was sprawled on the sectional beside her. The cleanup could wait till morning.

Her brows arced. She gestured with her glass toward the kitchen. “I don’t mind.”

“Live dangerously.”

“We danced you into a wild state of negligence.”

Something like that. He didn’t hate the feeling, but he might by morning.

“I should go to bed. It was a long week. I have to shop for kids’ bikes tomorrow. I’m going to hate every minute of it.”

“You gave in to your sister.”

“I like to think of it as...” She tipped her chin up, looked at the ceiling for inspiration. There was a pulse that beat in the vulnerable column of her neck, he knew exactly where and he wanted to press his lips to it, hear the knowing little hum she made when he did. Her hand slapped on her thigh. “I like to think of it as...”

“Doing your part.”

She met his eyes. “Being a sucker.”

“It’s your family.”

“Right. What can you do?”

Rust and sunglow in her eyes. She could tell jokes just by moving her brows. She should go to bed, if she was going.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I wouldn’t be looking at you if you were in bed.” Had to be the word bed. Made his chest feel constricted.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” His voice came out like he’d drunk the second six-pack. “I want to kiss you.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Would be so easy to. She sat close enough he could count her eyelashes. “Not happening.”

“I like your kisses, so it’s your choice not to kiss me, not to want me to kiss you.”

“Go to bed, Flick.”

She stood. “Okay, I’m going. Are you all right?”

“I’m going away for the weekend.” The idea came to him as he said it, and felt like the best solution. “I’ll hike a mountain, camp. Clear my head.” He’d be stronger then. “Be back Sunday night.”

“Don’t fall off.”