Dragging a palm over my bristly hair, I take a steadying breath. Down boy, I tell myself. I haven’t even met the woman. No sense in getting ahead of myself.
I think of my parents and how they met. I wonder if my dad felt like this when he saw my mom — enraptured and also as horny as hell. For the first time I consider that the real world love at first sight story that I grew up hearing might have been the PG version.
Because I don’t just want to whirl this woman around the dance floor. I want to take her into my bed and run my hands over every centimeter of her skin. I want to make the sweetest love to her that she’s ever had, and feel her clench around me in ecstasy.
I don’t know if I’m going to find love at first sight, with her or with anyone. But I’m sure as hell experiencing lust at first sight right now.
Somehow this woman already feels so familiar to me, even though we’ve only shared a few glances. It doesn’t feel like it’d be wrong to go and wrap my arms around her waist, even though I know that logically that would not be okay. Not by a long shot.
First things first. I’ve got to meet her.
Taking another deep draught of air, I begin to cross the room, my heart thumping in my ears louder than the band’s bass drum.
Amelia
I can feel his approach before I see it with my eyes. Electricity shivers over my skin. Every nerve ending stands tall, the tiny hairs on my arms pointing at his advance like a thousand minuscule divination rods.
Warmth emanates from one side. I know it’s him. I turn to take my first close-up eyeful of the man, gritting my teeth as if bracing for impact.
The sight of him truly is an almost physical encounter. Those warm mahogany eyes, the light scatter of grizzled hair across his strong jaw, the way his lips quirk into a smile that makes my toes curl and my breath come too fast.
He is, in a word, perfect.
Which is a ridiculous thing to think. I realize this. I’d thought that Randall was perfect, or at least perfect for me. But now that I’m standing next to a guy that lights every synapse on fire, I wonder if I really knew what chemistry was before this moment.
Because this stranger and I share it.
By comparison, Randall and I were a tepid cup of half-drunk tea forgotten on the sideboard.
For the first time since getting stood up at my own wedding, I feel a glimmer of hope that jilted bride won’t be my final title before transforming to cat hoarder in my waning years as planned. Like Hattie and Emmy said — good riddance.
Because if Randall hadn’t ditched me on what was supposed to be the most lovely day of our lives, I wouldn’t be in Desperado’s sharing oxygen with this man. And being near this stranger suddenly feels more important and far more lovely than anything I have or could have ever shared with Randall.
“Hello.” He ducks his chin, and I imagine that if he was wearing a hat, he’d tug the brim of it down in greeting.
“Hi.” My blood is running thick and hot in my veins, but my voice is even, almost playful. Because, to my surprise, I’m not nervous. Something about this man feels like destiny, as if I’ve already known him in a past life. Not that I necessarily believe in such things, but he’s so familiar that I’m suddenly more inclined to.
I can practically hear my friends’ heads swivel as one to take him in. At my side, Emmy makes a tiny strangled sound of surprise.
“I’m Tatum.”
“Amelia.” I gesture at each of my friends in turn with my gin and tonic. “And this is Hattie, Kate, and Emmy.”
“What brings you here tonight?” His voice is like the purr of an expensive car engine, smooth but powerful. I want to hear my name on his lips.
Kate takes a deep breath as if to answer, but I beat her to it. “Letting off some steam.” I do not want Tatum to know anything about how my day up until this point went. Not yet anyway.
Not yet. Even just the consideration of now versus later makes me realize that I’m already entertaining notions of a future with this man.
That’s no good. I’ve barely met him. I need to slow the fuck down. Because maybe he only wants to flirt — or flirt now in order to lock down some fucking later.
Which, after the epic dumping I endured today, I’m completely fine with. A few no-strings-attached nighttime romps between the sheets might be exactly what I need to start getting over Randall.
But then Tatum extends his hand for me to shake in greeting, and I take it. And when I touch him, all I want to do is keep touching him. It takes sheer force of will for me to not intertwine my fingers with his and hold on tight for as long as he’ll allow. Instead, I clutch my glass with both hands as he shakes hands with my friends, hoping that the cool condensation will steady me.
“I couldn’t help but notice you watching the dancing.” His words carry the hint of a drawl. I relish the sound of it, rolling it around in my head, trying to commit it to permanent memory.
And was it just me, or did he hesitate ever so slightly after saying “you”? As if he was trying to say that he couldn’t help but notice me, full stop. I can’t stop the slow grin that slides over my face at the thought.
“We were,” I answer. “Do you like to dance?”
Now he’s grinning too. “I love to dance.” Tatum glances at my girl posse. “I don’t want to intrude. But if your friends don’t mind, I’d love to steal you away for a song or two. That is, if you want to dance. Do you?”
An edge enters his voice, and it takes me a moment to realize — he’s nervous, and babbling. Like an actual human mortal. The thought that I of all people make this beautiful creature sweaty with nerves is strangely pleasant, and certainly unfamiliar. I’d always felt like I was tagging along at Randall’s heels, taking whatever bone of attention he cared to toss my way. I hadn’t minded it then. I’d figured that was just how men were with their women.
But now I have this stud muffin making eyes at me and practically wringing his hands over asking me to dance, and I’m starting to understand that not all men are like Randall, and that it wasn’t me, either — it was just my ex-fiancé, and he kind of sucked.
Sucks, I correct myself. Because that douchebag ended up abandoning me at the altar in the end.
I’m overdue for a man that actually wants me. And Tatum certainly seems to.
“I’d love to,” I answer. I hand my drink to Emmy. She’s smiling, but her hazel eyes are full of worry.
“Are you sure?” she hisses with lips that barely move so that Tatum can’t read them.
“Never been more sure in my life.” Turning so my shoulder blocks Tatum from the conversation, I take a moment to meet each of my friends’ gazes. “Seriously. Have fun, okay?”
“But —“ Kate begins.
I interrupt her with a shake of my head. “We came here to blow off some steam, to have a good time, right?”
Hattie’s scowling. But slowly, they each nod.
“I’m going to have a good time on the dance floor with this super hot guy. And maybe after that we’ll go have a good time somewhere else, too, if he wants to.” Emmy’s mouth drops open, but I ignore her. “Please believe me — this is what I want.”