Two is a Lie(30)

My eyes collide with Father Rick’s narrowed stare, and I turn away.

God help me, my mind is a slut. A fuckhappy, back-door Betty on the horizontal. Easy like Sunday morning.

But I want to be easy with Cole.

And Trace.

It’s the worst idea ever. I’ve banged more than one guy within the span of a few days, but they were just flings. Sleeping with two men who hold my heart is a whole other level of free love. I’m not sure I have the emotional dexterity for it, so I need to just get it out of my sluttenous head.

I distract myself with the stereo system, setting up the line dance song I’ll play on repeat for the next couple hours. Then I wait.

Cole returns just as the doors open, and the hall clamors with the shuffle of disheveled, hungry bodies. The shelter sleeps two-hundred homeless now, and it still fills to max occupancy every night.

It takes an hour to get everyone checked in and guided through the food line. Cole and I assist where needed, but the volunteers have a well-oiled system in place.

“How did your conversation go with Rick?” I lean against the wall beside Cole in a vacant corner of the dining hall.

“I told him the truth about us. How we met. Our engagement. My deployment and disappearance.”

“Then you gave him the cover story?”

He nods. “It has to be this way, Danni.”

“I know.” I release a breath. “It’s fine.”

“For a priest, he sure is smitten with you.” He forehead wrinkles. “And Trace.”

“Rick is not smitten with Trace.” I laugh.

“He admitted it took a while, but he eventually warmed up to Trace. He said your other fiancé spends a lot of time and money here.” His mood sours. “The Trace I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.”

I think back to Trace’s conniption fit when I gave Rick that first ten-thousand-dollar check. “People change.”

His lips flatten.

“Don’t read anything into that, Cole.” I rest a hand against the zipper on his leather jacket. “I love you just the way you are.”

His mouth bends into something beautiful and gentle, and I know my words bring him relief because I feel his happiness deep in my bones.

“Are you ready?” I walk backward toward the speakers, swaying my hips to a soundless tune. “’Cause it’s about to go down.”

“Last time you said that, you straddled my lap on the bike and molested me.”

“Poor baby.” Grinning mischievously, I press play on the stereo and flick my wrist above my head to the mellow, catchy beat of Uptown Funk.

I choreographed an easy-to-learn line dance to this song, using a variation of the electric slide, with fun booty shakes and sexy hip twists. The dance sequence is the tits, if I do say so myself, and Cole’s going to be my first victim.

I move into the taped-out section on the floor in the dining hall and raise my voice to the crowd of two hundred. “Hi, I’m Danni. When you’re finished eating, come on over. I’ll teach you the steps.”

Then I turn to Cole and crook my finger.

He shakes his head, less in defiance and more because he thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But he’s already on his way over here to be crazy with me.

Shrugging off his jacket, he tosses it next to mine and rolls his neck. Someone catcalls from the crowd, and I laugh because that was definitely a man’s whistle.

“I think you have an admirer.” I wink at Cole.

“We already exchanged numbers.” He prowls around me, wearing a straight expression. “He promised me a special evening tonight.”

“Good for you, but first, you’re gonna groove with me.”

“Nuh uh.” He taps my lips. “First, you’re gonna say the magic word.”

I put my hands on my hips and inject some attitude into my voice. “Please?”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “I’m imagining you doing something completely and wildly inappropriate while panting that word.”

I smack his rock-solid abs, making his eyes blink open and his mouth bow in an adorable dimpled grin.

“I’m going to show you the steps.” I move into position. “Focus on my feet. Then I’ll help you move your hips.”

At his nod, I travel through the routine, sliding right then left, easing into an oscillating descent toward the floor while shaking my backside. Another hop, a twist, with a hip tilt and lift. Add in some arm movements, and bam! This is my jam.

As I repeat the steps, I glance over my shoulder and narrow my eyes.

The pervert isn’t watching my feet. His hooded gaze is fixated on my rear.

“Cole.” I snap my fingers until he lifts his head. “Do you have it?