The tangled mix of nerves, hope, and anticipation I feel at that thought is so potent that even the wine can’t seem to tame it.
From my spot at the head table, I watch Sam. He’s sitting a couple of tables away with William and Max. William has his arms full of chubby baby boy, and Max is settling his daughter into Sam’s arms.
Next to me, Cally sighs. “Is there anything more appealing than a handsome man holding a baby?”
“Nothing,” I whisper.
It’s too easy to imagine Sam holding his own child, totally enraptured with the little fingers and squeaks. Despite his claims of not wanting to do the whole marriage-and-family thing, I think he’d be good at it. He comes from a big family, and he’s a natural with kids.
Stop it, my rational self scolds. That’s not going to happen, and I need to stop those thoughts before they go any further.
“Go on,” Cally says, nudging me. “Go dance with him.”
No use pretending I don’t know who she’s talking about when I’ve been staring at him for the last five minutes. I slip my feet back into my heels and make my way to Sam’s table.
“You have company,” Max says, taking his daughter from Sam. “You two go have fun.” He winks at me.
Sam’s face goes serious as he gives me a once-over, his eyes sliding down my body so slowly and deliberately that my face heats with embarrassment and arousal.
“It’s good of Max to be here tonight,” I say when we get to the dance floor. I place one hand in Sam’s and put the other on his shoulder, dancing in a way that keeps the most distance between our bodies.
“Between you and me, I think it killed him a little to watch her marry someone else.”
I look over Sam’s shoulder and see Max gathering his things to leave. “Then why did he come?”
Sam’s face is serious, cautious. “That’s just the kind of man Max is, Rowdy. He’ll sacrifice part of himself just to make the woman he loves happy.”
“He still loves her?”
“He’s trying not to,” he says, “but he does. Of course he does.” Taking my hips in his hands, he pulls our bodies together then brings his mouth to my ear. “I don’t really want to talk about Max and Hanna right now.” The heat of his breath against my ear—oh hell, this is gonna be good.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I was going to give you a hard time about that guy feeling you up by the restroom the other night, but if you’d been there with me and dressed like that, I’d have done the same.”
My stomach flip-flops. “You talk a big game, Bradshaw.”
He grins. “Unlike you, I guess. Never sleep with a guy on the first date?”
“Never,” I lie.
“And so what happened after Cally’s wedding . . .?”
“We never went on a date,” I explain, and that much is true.
He raises a brow. “Ah, the loophole. So clever. I guess it’s a shame we’re on a date tonight then. Because I sure enjoyed those not-dates.”
“Me too,” I whisper, my teeth sinking into my lower lip.
“But you’re not interested in not-dating anymore, are you, Rowdy? I hear you’re an active member of Something Real.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over the New Hope Tattler.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps a few times on the screen before handing it to me.
Lizzy Thompson Trying It All to Find Love
So much for anonymous. “Fuck me,” I breathe.
“I could arrange for that,” Sam says as he takes back his phone and returns it to his pocket. His voice is low, and that seductive bass line that makes me . . . want things.
From inside my very slutty panties, my girlie parts seem to be screaming, Yes, please, old friend! Stay awhile?
As if he can hear their desperate, horny-girl cries, Sam grins and brushes my cheek with his knuckles.
Is he trying to confirm my membership in Something Real because he wants to tease me about using the site or because he suspects I’m Tink24? I so badly want it to be the latter. I don’t like the idea of Sam being here with me now while planning to meet a stranger for anonymous sex in just a few hours. I feel almost jealous. Of myself. Which is ridiculous. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?” His gaze drops to my mouth, and I could melt right here in his arms if my brain weren’t going two hundred miles an hour trying to solve this puzzle I’ve gotten myself into. “Why am I dancing with you at a wedding? Isn’t that what we do? Some of my best memories are of me and you at weddings.”
“After last summer. After Connor . . . you hate me.”