All the Bold Moves (All The Right Moves 2)

I’ll tell you what freaking kind: the Matthew Wakefield kind.

Slack jawed, I stare at him wanting to walk over and slap him hard across the face. I mean, seriously – the nerve. I feel Neve’s fingers playing along the seam in the back of my shirt and want to smack him, too.

Stupid boys.

“Why are you doing this?” I hiss at Matthew, our friends (including Neve) looking back-n-forth between us in stunned fascination. I swear if this was the movies they would all be eating popcorn and Milk Duds.

“You even have to ask? This is a game we started - and I plan on finishing it - even if you don’t.”

Well, shit – Of course he plans on finishing it. I should have known when we made the stupid bet that Matthew wasn’t going to back down or forget about it like a decent human being with some compassion. Nope. He’s too competitive for that.

“What are you trying to say Matthew? That if I don’t walk over there and kiss you, you’re going to…. What? What are you going to do about it?” I lip off, hands on my jutted out hips, unable to stop the words from bitterly spilling out of my mouth. “You can’t make me like you, so stop trying. And you can’t make me kiss you.”

Matthew shakes his head at me, feigning disappointment. “Cecelia… Cecelia… you’re testing my patience.”

He looks me up and down, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and I return the favor. His green eyes are bright, interested, and staring right into my soul. His dark auburn hair is disheveled, like he’s run his fingers through it a million times already tonight. He dressed up a little – his tall frame looks utterly delicious in a light sage pinstripe dress shirt, the top two buttons undone and untucked over dark wash, low slung jeans.

I glance down at his feet (because it’s in my nature to not just size him up, but to do it thoroughly) to find navy and white Speery Topsider boat shoes.

Damn him. Damn him and his fine ass.

Nevertheless, I cross my arms, unrelenting, and purse my lips before tipping my chin up and refusing to look directly at him. If he wants to call in the damn bet, he’s going to have to kiss me first.

“Cece, maybe you should just get it over with,” Jenna calls from only a few feet away, trying to be helpful.

“A canoodle is a canoodle, Cecelia, and might I remind you - you chose the word,” Matthew laughs, spreading his arms wide, inviting me in. “Want me to come over there?” He gives his fingers a little ‘come hither’ wiggle.

“I still think canoodle sounds like a donut…” I’m close enough to hear Matthews’s friend Kevin mutter, and see Jenna pinch him in the forearm. “Ouch! What?”

God this is embarrassing.

I glance over at my date only to find him chatting up a scantily clad female bartender, his back completely turned to Matthew and I, apparently uninterested in the unfolding drama even though we agreed and discussed that he was going to pretend to be into me to make Matthew jealous (I know, I know – a stupid thing to do) and to make him suffer a little bit longer before I finally gave in and admit to liking him, too.

Well, there goes that plan… Thanks a-freaking-lot, Neve.

Ugh, flippin guys. Not to sound bitter, but why can’t they just do what they’re told? Or for that matter - what they say they’re going to do. That would sure make life easier… Instead of getting involved with an Alpha male, maybe I should start looking for someone a little easier to boss around.

Sigh.

Yeah, I know, you’re right - who am I trying to kid? Matthew’s bossy, overbearing nature is what attracted me to him in the first place – and I’m confident that’s what attracted him to me, too: my sass, spunk, and sometimes overconfident disposition.

Behind me, I get jostled by a passing bar patron, and lurch forward a few feet, stumbling towards Matthew so that I’m standing even closer. Close enough to touch, actually. I blow the hair out of my eyes, grateful that I’m not carrying a glass – which reminds me - why the hell don’t have a drink in my hand?

I need one now more than I did before.

I turn my head and mouth to Molly (who’s watching us as intently as she watches Pretty Little Liars) ‘Get me another drink’ then tip my head back and make the universal sign for chugging a drink with my hand. She rolls her eyes but turns towards the bar, giving a shrill whistle to catch the Bartender’s attention.

Man, she sure is pushy when she wants to be… must run in the family.

Matthew eyes me up and down, beginning with my stocking clad toes. He takes in my sheer black panty hose, which elongate my legs, and my feet, which are buckled in to black strappy wedges. Those bright green eyes of his travel up… slowly, ever so slowly… hitting my thighs, resting briefly on the hem of my high-waisted shorts, before leisurely roaming over my tight white shirt, lingering on my breasts, then bare arms.