Page 2 of Duty Preserved

“And this is what I’m talking about.” Alyson jabbed a finger at me. “You do this. You use that big, beautiful brain of yours to disqualify every option before you even give it a chance.”

“Or I just have standards.”

“You have walls that’s not the same.” She pushed her wineglass away. “And this is the problem. We’re sitting here drinking terrible wine like we’re at a faculty dinner. No wonder you’re in observation mode.” She flagged a server. “Tequila. A round.”

“I don’t want tequila.”

“Nobody wants tequila. That’s not the point.”

The shots arrived. Alyson slid one to Daniel, one to me, and kept one for herself.

I drank. It burned. Alyson was already flagging the server again. Another round appeared before I could object.

“Aly—”

“Momentum.” She clinked her glass against mine. “Drink. It’s our last night in Paris. Live a little.”

I drank. The tequila landed on top of the wine, and I waited for something to happen. Nothing did. I didn’t feel any different. Okay, good. Maybe it was watered down.

“Better.” Alyson grinned. “Now, we’re dancing.”

She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my already-protesting feet. She dragged me through the crowd with Daniel trailing behind, and within thirty seconds, we were on the dance floor and Alyson was moving like the music had been written specifically for her. She took hold of my hands and started rocking me side to side, bouncing on her heels, refusing to let me stand still.

I moved with her, completely awkward, but not dancing—if my movements could even be called that—wasn’t a choice.

We danced. Or, Alyson danced, and I did my best impression of someone who’d been shown a diagram of dancing once and was working from memory. At some point, we went back to the table for another round. Then back to the floor. Three songs in, I realized my hips were moving without my permission.

Oh no. The tequila hadn’t been watered down.

Alyson noticed. “Look at you go! See? You can dance.” She grabbed my hands. “This is what I’ve been talking about. Relax a little.”

I almost smiled. The music was doing something to me—or the tequila was…or both. My body was loosening in a way that felt unfamiliar and not entirely unwelcome.

Alyson leaned close. “Okay. Tall one. By the DJ.”

I looked. He was dancing big, elbows out. Every few seconds, he checked the crowd to see who was watching. I shook my head.

“Why?”

“He’s performing.”

“Everyone’s performing. That’s what clubs are.”

“I’m not.”

“No. You’re doing field research.” She spun me around. “Who, then? You have rejected every man in this building.”

“Here’s a thought: I don’t need to talk to a man. I don’t need to dance with a man. I definitely do not need to do the nasty with a man. That’s not really what I want.”

I didn’t even know why I was talking. Alyson could barely hear me over the music, and she was dancing with Daniel anyway. This was useless. Why was I even here? I didn’t want⁠—

A group pushed past behind me, loud and careless, and someone’s elbow caught me between the shoulder blades. I pitched forward and crashed into someone hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

Hands caught me. Firm and fast, one on my arm and one at my waist. I was pressed against a chest that felt like it had been poured from concrete: wide, solid, warm through a plain dark dress shirt that wasn’t trying to show anything but couldn’t hide what was underneath. My hands landed flat against him, and I could feel muscle that wasn’t for show. Built for something I couldn’t name.

I looked up.

Dark hair. Brown eyes. A face that was all hard angles, nothing in it that was trying to be liked. He was close enough that I could feel his breath and see where his jaw tightened and notice that his eyes, up close, weren’t just brown. They had flecks of gold in them that the colored lights caught and released.