Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
“You’re welcome.” He winds his arms around my waist, and hugs me tightly. “Get used to being spoiled because I plan to do it a lot.”
“Charles and Arya will be so relieved.” I lean back, fingers slipping through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for this.”
“I have an idea.” His eyebrow quirks, along with the corner of his mouth.
I mirror his expression. “It’s probably not the same as mine.”
He laughs and kisses the end of my nose. “Dance for me.”
“Definitely not the same idea as mine,” I joke.
“Just for me.” He fingers an errant curl, his smile making my stomach twist in the most delicious way.
“Just you,” I breathe.
His eyes darken. “Mm. Yes, please.”
“Only if there’s a cherry on top.” I do the wave with my eyebrows.
His grin turns devilish. “You’re a problem, you know that?”
“But I’m a cute problem.” I love that I don’t have to guard myself with him. I can make jokes, and we can flirt and have fun, and I don’t have to worry about his motives.
I spin out of his arms, already filtering through potential songs and routines. I know just the one; it’s basically mine and Mac’s theme song.
I turn on the rest of the lights, looking over the entire space for the first time. The floors are beautiful, bleached wood, the walls mirrored, and there’s even a warm-up barre that spans two walls.
Flip turns on the sound system while I shed my coat and sweater and dig my dance shoes out of my bag. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, then grab a folding chair from the corner and set it in the middle of the room.
Flip holds up his phone. “What’s the chair for, kitten?”
“So I can entertain you.” I pat the seat.
He snaps a photo and tucks it back in his pocket, regarding me with curiosity as he drops into the chair. I hand him the remote. “I’ll tell you when.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
I move into position on the opposite side of the room and call over my shoulder, “You can hit play.”
The music starts, and Flip shakes his head as the song fills the room.
“Really, Talls?”
“It’s iconic.”
“You’re not wrong.”
There’s nothing quite like classic Madonna. It’s been a while since I’ve performed this routine, but my muscles remember the moves. I spin and twirl and leap, falling into the music. I grip Flip’s shoulder instead of the back of the chair, moving around him. His eyes find mine in the mirror, hot and steady as I spin. Like he’s my sun. The center of my universe.
The nerves hit me again as I stop in front of him, bracing my hands on his knees. Our gazes lock, our faces inches apart as I kick my leg back and arch until my toe touches my crown. I push away and move into a spin, then drop into his lap for a moment before I roll my body back up. His fingers coast along my hip before I twirl out of reach again. The push and pull between us is addictive. I’m full of longing and desire, and it’s echoed back at me in him.
I spin around him one last time as the final lines play out, and I drop back into his lap, stretching my arm across his shoulder, eyes on his as I arc backwards. His hand settles against the small of my back, the other high on my thigh.
We’re both breathless as I meet his fiery gaze. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His voice is all gravel.
“How was that?”
“Fucking incredible.” He squeezes my thigh. “I’ll be your private audience anytime.”
“I’ll dance for you whenever you want.” I hop out of his lap, in love with the tension flaring between us. “It’s your turn.”
He runs his hands over his thighs. “For what?”
“To dance for me.”
He taps his chest. “Hockey player.” Then points to me. “Dancer.”
“I’ve seen you on the dance floor on club nights. You’ve got moves.” He lets me tug him out of the chair and take his place. I cross my legs, pointing to the sound system. “Entertain me.”
He leans in to kiss the end of my nose. “Careful what you wish for.”
I giggle as he moonwalks to the stereo and cues up a song. He pulls his hoodie and T-shirt over his head, revealing his gloriously cut chest and abs. His six-pack has a six-pack.
I bite my bottom lip, jittery with excitement as he gets into position.
“Ready to be entertained?” he calls over his shoulder.
“So ready.” I hit play and nearly die when the first strains of his rebuttal song blast through the speakers. It’s been a popular club song since the nineties.
Flip does not pull out the anticipated dance-club moves. Instead, he performs a legit striptease, minus the stripping. And while I used him and the chair as props, that has nothing on the way Flip uses it and me.