When We Dance

He flashes a grin.

“What about me? What do you think about me?” he asks.

Hmm… I like that. Him being interested in my opinion? Yes, please.

“You weren’t sincere with her.”

He flicks an eyebrow up, shooting me a questioning look.

“You flirted back. That’s not your style. It was a decoy. Your way of keeping your distance. She just rolled off you like a dead leave blown by the wind. Whatever held you back in the past is still there. You’re not interested in her.”

He purses his lips, amused.

“Why all that talk about the dark-haired women then?” he asks, his curiosity piqued.

“To make you talk.”

“Hmm… All right,” he drawls, dipping his eyes to my dress.

He studies me for a moment while I drink in his magnetic smile.

“You’re a bit lost, aren’t you?” he murmurs, lifting his gaze to me.

A wolfish grin gleams in his gaze.

“Who? Me? No. No way…” I say, laughing.

He looks away at the men inside. I assume searching for Francisco and Alejandro.

“How did he treat you?” he asks, pivoting and propping his hip against the railing, his arms folded across this chest.

“It was all right,” I toss at him, trying to conceal his friend’s effect on me.

A smile tilts his lips.

“And then he threw you for a loop.”

“Something like that.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

I look at him. I’m not so sure I like the sound of that.

He nods.

I don’t know if this is the moment to bring up my theory about us getting bored with each other too soon.

Probably not.

Besides, I can’t ask him for directions. I’d gladly take them if he provided them. Any clue on what to expect from his friends is more than welcome.

He ponders for too long, undecided on what to say––I think––and then his phone starts humming.

Fuck.

I smile.

He seems hesitant about the call, not knowing whether to take it or not, and that makes me even more suspicious than when I found him with that woman here.