Page 5

We move onto the dance floor and I slide my arms around his neck. He puts his hands on my waist and we start to sway. I close my eyes, wondering if I’m going to do something reckless tonight.

Like go home with him.

I shouldn’t.

Not for any moral standing or anything like that—it’s just hard not to get attached when you meet a guy as good-looking and, so far anyway, intriguing as this one. He doesn’t talk about his life or brag about the black American Express card I noticed him surreptitiously hand to the bartender. I recognize it because I have one too, so it’s not like I’m interested in his money.

He strikes me as successful but I don’t dare ask what he does because then he will inevitably ask what I do and I don’t want to tell him. I just want to dance with a guy who doesn’t want anything from me. Who just thinks I’m a pretty girl who loves to dance. And that’s the thing—it’s true. I don’t know if I’m traditionally pretty, but I’m not ugly. And I love to dance.

Slow dancing is my favorite.

And despite saying he doesn’t like it, Cash is light on his feet. He’s also not desperately trying to grope me. Like he understands that there’s a good chance he’s getting laid tonight and doesn’t feel the need to be overt about his intentions.

It’s a nice change.

The dating scene can be brutal, and I do my fair share, but sometimes it's nice not to have to work so hard to have a good time.

I move closer and gaze up at him.

He’s really good-looking. Even up close, he has nice skin, full lips, and long lashes. The scruff on his face gives him an edgier look, like a pirate or something. I don’t know where that thought comes from but I’m seriously having a tough time not leaning up to kiss him.

It would be better if he made the first move, though.

I’m a modern, independent woman but I have a touch of old-fashioned in me too. It’s not that I can’t make the first move—I just enjoy it more when the guy does it.

Cash must sense what I’m thinking because his eyes find mine and there’s no doubt we’re having the same thoughts. I gaze up at him, making it clear that I’d be open to a kiss, and—thank fuck. He dips his head and lightly presses his lips to mine. My eyes close and I savor the contact.

I knew his kisses would be gentle, like the rest of him, and for a moment, I wonder if there’s a time when he’s not gentle.

As Ed Sheeran continues to sing about how perfect the woman he loves is, I allow myself a few moments of a fantasy. Where I’m said perfect woman and Cash is the romantic man of my dreams. He certainly kisses like he could be.

His mouth is firm but his lips are tender, and we continue swaying in time to the music as he slowly slides his tongue against mine. It’s not sloppy or rushed, like we have all the time in the world. Almost like we’ve done this before.

I’ve never felt quite like this when kissing someone for the first time.

And I really like it.

I wind my arms around his neck and open my mouth, deepening the kiss. He closes his arms around me, pulling me closer, and the moan that leaves me comes from somewhere deep. A place that I don’t tap into very often because I usually wind up disappointed.

I just don’t think Cash is going to disappoint me.

“You’re sweet,” he murmurs as the song ends and the spell is broken.

“You’re a great kisser,” I whisper, trying to still the wild beating of my heart.

“We could pick this up at my hotel,” he says quietly, eyes never leaving mine.

“Yes, we absolutely could.” The words come out before I can stop them.

“You sure?” he asks, one hand on the side of my face.

“I’m sure. Just let me tell my friends where I’m going.”

“The Marriott Marquis.”

“I’ll be right back.” I turn, looking for the friends I came with.

They’re going to give me a ration of shit for taking off with a guy I just met, but I don’t care. One night with a guy like Cash is exactly what I need to end my birthday.