Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Captain understands. He shakes his whole big furry body, sending mud and rainwater all over my ex.
“Good boy,” I say as Captain covers August in mud.
I guess revenge is a dish best served dirty.
29
COME OVER TONIGHT
SAWYER
“Progress. You’re making progress.”
That’s Chloe’s dad’s prognosis of my moves as he teaches the class that night at Anyone Can Dance.
This time? I almost step on her toes, but I’m like Mercury, and the Roman god has nothing on my fleet feet as I step away just in time.
“Not stepping on you tonight,” I say to the gorgeous redhead in my arms.
“I have noticed, and I approve,” she says as I guide her into an underarm turn, her red dress fanning out with every spin.
In this intro class, we go through the basics once more as other couples sway and swing, shimmy and shake. The whole time I can’t take my eyes off Chloe. Her dress clings to her body, whisks against her soft skin, teases at her thigh. It’s sinful. This dress is foreplay in sartorial form. And it nearly distracts me, but my mission—I can’t believe I’m saying this, let alone thinking this—is to dance well enough onstage with her.
For her.
I want the fundraiser to go well for her. So she doesn’t reveal my secret, sure. But mostly because I like making her happy.
When the class ends with no more stubbed toes, her dad turns to Chloe and me and says in his upbeat tone, “You’re almost there. Just need some more practice.” But his hazel eyes twinkle with something like mischief. “First though, I have a surprise for tonight. I want to work on your choreography.”
Right. Of course. That makes sense. I knew we’d need to work on the specific moves for our short dance. But I thought we’d get through the basics first.
“So I’ve graduated from beginner?”
“You’re a fast learner,” Chloe adds.
But her father says nothing. Just flashes an impish grin as he sashays to the door, opening it right as it swings open. And the tall, dashing, utterly debonair man who inquired about dog daycare strides in looking like he’s just stepped off the pages of a goddamn magazine.
My jaw tightens.
“I’m here,” the man says, so charming, so British, so like a fucking magazine model I want to punch him.
Well, what other choice do I have when Mister Perfect walks in?
“Hi, Ian,” Chloe says, waving. “I guess you’re spending a little more time in our town?”
His smile is too magnetic. “I’m thinking about it.”
I’m thinking he should go.
“Luca knows Ian’s brother, and he’s been talking up our little town,” Chloe’s father explains with such affection for both his boyfriend and Darling Springs. And perhaps for his plan too. “I asked Ian to come by and help since he’s an excellent dancer. I thought it’d be better if I could direct the two of you. Since you don’t know the steps yet, Sawyer, this will be an easier way to teach you the dance. You’re a visual kind of person, so you’ll be able to see how the dance should look. You’ll learn faster this way.”
The fuck I will. A guttural hiss escapes my mouth.
“Fine,” I grumble.
“This will be fun,” Chloe says, because that’s her. Looking on the bright side, having a good time. “It’s such a great way to learn.”
As far as I’m concerned, her dancing with this Ian guy is a great way to make me want to smash his face in.
But I reluctantly let her go, stepping away, standing against the mirror, and crossing my arms. I’m like a bouncer, my eyes locked on the two of them, ready to toss him out for any line crossed.
“All right, this is just thirty seconds. A little waltz, some swing, a dip,” her father says, moving gracefully in his own short demo. While waltzing, he explains the choreography quickly to Ian.
“Fantastic. I’ve got this, no problem.”
I narrow my eyes as the charming Brit takes my woman in his arms and slides right into the dance like he’s on Bridgerton. Like he’s Anthony or Benedict. Like he’s smooth and irresistible and the moves are second nature. They spin, and his hand slinks down Chloe’s back.
My nostrils flare. His hand is on her.
I am nothing but a vat of boiling green jealousy as he spins her, dips her, and holds her close.
My fists clench.
My jaw clicks.
“Shall we do it again?” Ian asks, with that camera-ready smile, so ready to help.
Fuck that.
I uncross my arms. “No,” I say, stalking across the dance floor, my wingtips clicking on the hardwood.
I cut them off, taking her in my arms. “I’ll take it from here.”
“But you only saw it once,” her father says, his brow knit.
“I’m a fast learner,” I say. And we’ll see. We’ll fucking see. But no one else is dancing with her but me. I take what’s mine—hand on her waist, holding her close, and saying fuck it to their plan.