He nodded. “I’m certainly trying. Is it working?”
“I am questioning a few things. Can you dance like him though?”
Leaning his head down, he placed his mouth next to my ear. “I can. Would you like to see?”
And before I knew it, Luke Morrison was spinning me around and showing me dance moves that made me want things I knew I couldn’t have.
When the song ended, he pulled me close, and I swore for a hot second he was going to kiss me.
“I need to clear something up with you, Brighton, before things go any further.”
My eyes widened. “Any further?” I asked in a breathy voice.
“Yes, because I really want things to go further, or as far as you want them to go.”
My entire body heated as desire pooled in my stomach. I quickly glanced around and saw couples dancing and small groups lost in conversation—not one person was paying any attention to us. Focusing back on Luke, I softly said, “Okay.”
He leaned down, his mouth only inches from mine. I felt my body lift closer to him. I wanted to bridge the distance between us more than I had ever wanted anything in my entire life.
“What…what is it? That you want to tell me? To go further?”
He smiled. He was so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. Smell the whiskey from his drink. “I’m not gay—and I really want to kiss you.”
I felt my eyes go wide. “You’re not?”
He shook his head. “No, sweetheart, far from it.”
“Thank fuck,” I whispered.
He laughed and drew back, leaving me slightly dizzy.
“But your dad…” I whispered.
“Doesn’t like me living in California, hates that I’m into acting, and thinks I only date shallow women.”
“Do you?” I asked.
“Date shallow women?”
I shook my head. “No. I mean, yes, do you date shallow women…and do you want to kiss me?”
Lord, I sound like a teenage girl right now. Get your shit together, Bree!
He slowly shook his head.
“Wait, are you shaking your head because you don’t want to kiss me, or because you don’t date shallow women? Oh my God, I think I drank too much.”
Luke chuckled. “I don’t date shallow women, and I would very much like to kiss you.”
Before I could say anything else, Lucy was standing there, a wide grin on her face. Luke took a step away from me, and the heated connection between us broke.
Shit on a brick. I had never wanted to push away another woman as much as I did in that moment. What was it with moms and their terrible timing?
“All those years of dance lessons paid off, did they not, Brighton?” Lucy asked.
My feet felt like lead, and I had to force myself to get my shit together. I cleared my throat and put my game face on. “They certainly did; your son is a wonderful dancer.”
Luke winked at me and then turned to his mother. “Mom, would you care to dance?”
Lucy turned to me. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.” He was only just about to kiss me. And I had a feeling his kisses would render me stupid. “I, um, I need to run to the ladies’ room.”
As I started to leave the dance floor, Luke took hold of my arm and leaned closer. “I didn’t scare you off with my confession, did I?” he asked.
I let out a bubble of nervous laughter. “Scare me? No, not at all. If you think you can handle it. Me. I mean, if you think you can handle me…kissing me.”
His brows rose, and I took a step back, wishing the floor would open and swallow me.
“I think I can,” he said, “but there’s only one way to find out. Don’t be gone too long.”
I bit down on my lower lip and then smiled. “Excuse me for a moment.”
He nodded and turned back to his mother, and they started to glide across the dance floor. If she had heard any of that, she was clearly pretending she hadn’t.
Smiling to everyone I passed on the way to the ladies’ room, I went over everything in my head.
He was handsome. He looked like a young Gene Kelly. He danced like a 1940’s movie star. He wasn’t gay. And he wanted to kiss me.
“Oh my God, dreams really do come true,” I mumbled, making my way to the restroom.
I placed my hand over my stomach to settle the sudden nerves that spiked up at the thought of that man kissing me. After checking all the stalls, I hit Wendy’s number.
“So?” she said without even saying hello. “What’s he like?”
“I’m in deep shit.”
“Why?”
I drew in a deep breath. “For starters, he’s not gay. Thank fuck, he’s not gay.”
“Why thank fuck?”
“Because he’s hot, Wendy. I’m not talking Brad Pitt kind of hot. I’m talking Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain kind of hot.”