Obviously, now, I know that to be an outright lie. Sex appeal and confidence come in all shapes and sizes. It’s skinny. It’s curvy. And it stems from how you feel about yourself.
I feel the moment he notices me. His eyes flit across my face and then take a slow, seductive once-over of my body.
Game on.
“Hi,” he mouths, and that devil-may-care smile is back. It’s so damn good, so appealing, I swear it urges goose bumps to roll up my arms and neck.
But I know this isn’t the type of guy you immediately show you’re interested. No way. You have to slow roll him. Make him feel like there’s a test he has to pass to win your attention.
I keep dancing, only letting the hint of a smile show on my face.
He moves closer to me then, the distance between us now mere inches rather than feet, and I look up at him purposefully with big, curious eyes.
“Wanna dance?” he asks, his voice a seductive whisper that somehow finds its way over the music and into my ears.
I shrug. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Are you married?” I question, and he smirks at the forwardness of it.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Also no.” That smirk of his morphs into an amused smile. “You?”
I make a show of looking at the space around me. “As you can see, I’m here by myself.”
A raspy chuckle jumps from his throat. “You know what I meant.”
“And there’s no husband or boyfriend waiting for me at home either.”
“So…now that we have that out of the way…how about that dance?”
“A dance?” I tilt my head to the side and let my gaze wash over him. “With you?”
He steps closer. “Well, doll, I am the one who’s asking.”
“But are you fun?”
His responding smile could melt panties off a mannequin. “I’m the most fun a girl could ever have.”
That cocky confidence of his should probably be off-putting, but somehow, it makes him more appealing. You have to be one cool motherfucker to sell yourself that well.
“Okay.” I shrug one shoulder with nonchalance. “Sure. Why not.”
He’s not eager like I expect. Instead, he drags it out, slows it down, and that shows me he’s a man who knows what he’s doing.
Gently, he reaches out and takes my hand into his. All the while, his blue eyes never leave mine.
His thumb caresses the top of my hand, my fingers, and doesn’t stop until it hits the ring I always wear on my right ring finger.
He looks down at my hand, focuses, and smiles. “Is that a mood ring?”
I nod as his steady gaze comes up to search mine.
“What’s your mood tonight?”
I don’t hesitate. Because the truth is, back in the day, Rachel Rose could be one cool motherfucker too. “A little wild. A little reckless.”
The hint of a smirk kisses his full lips. He moves closer then, closing the distance to mere millimeters now, and before I know it, my hands are around his neck and his arms are around my waist, tugging me closer to his body.
I can feel the warmth of his skin through the material of my dress, and the sensation goes straight to my head.
Damn. He feels good.
We are as close as two people can physically be, and his body knows exactly how to move. His hips guide mine, and his hands put just the right amount of pressure on my waist.
Somehow, he manages to keep us close but make me feel like we’re not close enough.
This guy is smooth with a capital S.
The smell of his soft but masculine cologne consumes me, and I have to blink a few times to remind myself of why I’m even here, dancing with him.
Five years ago, I would’ve thrown caution to the wind and endeavored to let this moment go wherever it took me—which, undoubtedly, would have been to a place without clothes.
I wouldn’t have cared that he might as well be one giant walking, talking red flag. I wouldn’t have minded that all these women were so obviously vying for his attention. And I wouldn’t have cared that he was clearly the type of guy you didn’t bring home to meet the parents.
But I’m not interested in being that girl anymore, and even if I were, that’s not what this is about.
This is just a short-lived game that will end very soon.
“What’s your name?” he whispers into my ear and leans back to meet my eyes.
“Whatever you want it to be.”
He lifts one eyebrow. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But I do want to give you something.”
“Give me something?”
“Uh-huh. Close your eyes.”
The corners of his lips curve up in amusement, but confusion has him tilting his head ever so slightly to the side.
“Just trust me,” I say confidently.
“Trust the girl who won’t give me her name?”
I bite my bottom lip and nod. “Sometimes you have to live a little dangerously, you know?”