Usher’s “Caught Up” starts to pump through the speakers as we walk to the dance floor. I watch as we pass by people, how they look at him…like he’s a glowing light and they are the moths drawn to him.
Carrick’s presence just commands attention. Take away the racing, the fame, and I think he would still be the same.
Confidence and virility just breathe from him as naturally as the air from his lungs.
I also see the looks I’m receiving from women, looks I’ve been receiving all night. Luckily for me, those looks of distaste and jealousy just bounce right off me. Being an only female in the working world of men toughens a girl right up.
What I am actually feeling from the envious looks is a tremendous buzz. They want him, and he’s with me. Well, for tonight anyway.
Carrick stops us in the middle of the dance floor and turns to face me.
I feel awkward. I’m not really sure what to do, where to put my hands. I’m also holding my clutch, which makes it even more difficult.
Should I put it on the floor? It’s just so pretty and new. I don’t want it to get ruined.
Deciding to keep my clutch in hand, I rest my wrists awkwardly over his shoulders.
Carrick chuckles.
Taking my clutch from my hand, he shoves it in his jacket pocket. Then, he takes my hands. Lifting one, he places it on his shoulder. Keeping hold of the other, he wraps his fingers around it. Then, sliding his free hand around my waist, his fingers press gently into my back, pulling me closer.
I’m trying not to tense, but his nearness and touch are driving me crazy. Neurons are firing like bullets to my nerve endings, igniting fires that shouldn’t be lighting for him.
“Relax,” he says low into my ear.
That only sets off more shivers in me, heading southward.
“Have you never danced with a man before?”
“Um…” I bite my lip. “Sure I have. But not like this.” Not with a man like you, a man who can switch my body on with a single look…a single touch.
He raises a brow. “Not like this?”
“Yeah, you know, the proper kind of dancing. When I dance with a man, I’m usually drunk, and I’m, um…” Shit, how do I finish that sentence? That I’m on the pull, dancing with the guy I’m planning on taking home to have sex with—on the rare occasions when that does happen?
His hand tightens around mine, and I watch as his mouth forms the words hanging in my mind, “When you’re on the pull.”
Heat engulfs my face, so I turn away. “Something like that.”
He leans in, so his lips are next to my ear, grazing it, as he speaks, “Just so you know, the dancing I want to do with you most fucking definitely isn’t proper.”
Holy fucking what?
My eyes flash back to his, but his blues give nothing away.
Before I get a chance to speak, he says, “How many boyfriends have you had?”
My head jerks back in surprise. “Um, what?”
“I asked how many boyfriends you’ve had.”
“And why exactly are you asking that?”
“Curious.”
“You know what that did?”
“Yeah, it killed the cat—and satisfaction brought it back, so I’ll take my chances. How many boyfriends, Andressa?”
Smiling at his quip, I loosen up and decide to answer. “A few. Nothing serious.”
“A few? I thought you’d have them lining up.”
I give him a look. “Shockingly, no. Not all men want to date a grease monkey.”
“Grease monkey?” He barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re far from that. And you’re wrong about men not wanting a hot-as-fuck woman who works under the hood. Trust me. There’s nothing sexier.”
Hot-as-fuck woman…
“When was your last relationship?”
His question momentarily throws me. I’m still stuck in my hot-as-fuck daze.
But his persistent intrusion into my personal life brings a frown to my face. “Jesus, Carrick, what is this? Question time?”
“It’s called getting to know you.”
“You already know me.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Do you need to know everything?”
His eyes darken…deepening like an endless chasm, which I could easily fall into.
“About you? Yes.”
My heart skips a good ten beats before restarting back up.
Swallowing, I try to catch the breath he just stole. “Well, there are better things to learn about me than my dating history,” I mumble.
“I’m fully aware of that, but just humor me.”
“Fine…” I huff. “My last boyfriend was, um…” Marcelo, but can that really be classified as a relationship? We only dated for two months, and I was on the road with the team for a good portion of that. “About two years ago,” I finish with.