I’m staring at her back, but Big Lips’s head tilts to the side, in what I can only imagine is confusion.

“I mean,” Celia continues, “it’s practically panty-melting. You should get him to play a song for you. And have you seen his eyes?”

At this point, Adam has turned to look at Celia in what can only be described as sheer horror, and his random pick-up is looking down and fumbling in her purse.

“Oh, sorry,” she mumbles, her lips no longer trained in a pout. “My friends are calling me. I need to … go.”

Big Lips scampers off in a hurry, and I bite my cheek to hold back my laughter. Adam turns to Celia, hands raised in question. “What the fuck was that?”

Celia jerks her head back, and her jaw falls open. “What do you mean? I’m your wingwoman. I was trying to help.”

No longer able to hold it in, I toss my head back and roar with laughter. I slam my hand on the bar, making the bottles jump. “Whew! Damn, Tink, thanks for that. I needed a good laugh.”

Adam glares at me, obviously not seeing the humor of the situation. After his evil eye stare quiets my laughter, he shifts his gaze back to Celia.

“You’re not my wingwoman. You’re my wingweirdo. That girl couldn’t get out of here fast enough. You freaked her out!”

Celia slumps her shoulders and pokes out her bottom lip. Oddly enough, her pouty lips are ten times more effective than Big Lips. Maybe it’s just me…

“Aw, come on, Adam. I didn’t mean to make her leave. I’m sorry…”

Adam shoulders relax somewhat, and he grabs the back of his neck while shaking his head. He turns to me and gives me “the look” while pointing at Celia.

“I got her, man. Go,” I say with a quick head nod.

“Wait, where are you going, Adam?” Celia asks, confused by our exchange.

Adam places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, hiding the beginnings of a smile. “Celia, I’m going in solo. No wingwoman—just me and my irresistible charm. And the tats, of course.”

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath, as I feel the shit getting pretty deep.

“Oh, okay,” Celia says, looking slightly dejected. “I really was trying to help, Adam. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good, Cece. You’re still my girl, but let’s just consider those wings of yours clipped,” Adam says while giving me the universal man hug—half handshake, half back slap. “Cain will give you a ride home. Are you comfortable with that?”

He watches her expression to be sure she’s on board with the change of plans, and I bristle. I know he’s looking out for her, but the thought of her actually being afraid of me, or my intentions, doesn’t sit well with me. My chest loosens when I see her nod in agreement and wink playfully at Adam.

We watch Adam disappear into the crowd in silence, and then I turn to Celia and raise my eyebrows flirtatiously. She giggles and sips her drink, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“Who’s the Casanova now?” she asks, pushing my shoulder with her finger.

I roll my eyes and turn to the bar, signaling for another beer. She’s still nursing her first drink, so I just order one for me. This will be the last, seeing as I’m responsible for precious cargo tonight.

“So you’re gonna bring me home … and Adam’s just gonna hitch a ride with some random woman?”

“Well, I think he’s hoping she’ll hitch a ride on him.”

Celia rolls her eyes and bursts out laughing before I even finish the sentence.

“Ew! That’s … disturbing. Adam doesn’t seem like that kind of guy to me.”

“Truth?” I ask. She wrinkles her nose and gives a small nod. “Every guy can be that kind of guy, given the right situation. He’s not looking for deep conversation and long walks on the beach. He’s a dad with a random weekend off. He doesn’t need or want more than that right now, and that’s okay. Consenting adults and all, ya know?”

“When you say it like that, it makes complete sense. He doesn’t have any more to give. I get that. I understand it … more than you know.” Her mouth turns down in a small frown, and the mood darkens unexpectedly. I get tiny glimpses of sadness in her eyes, but in this moment, her sorrow is center stage. If there was ever a doubt in my mind, this seemingly innocent conversation confirms my suspicions. Celia is one hundred percent unavailable, even if I’m not sure of the circumstances behind it. I’d be lying if I didn’t say a small part of me wished that wasn’t the case. Maybe that part of me is bigger than I care to admit.

We drink in silence for a time, and my ears perk up when I hear a familiar tune. Not one to wallow, I step off my stool and tug Celia’s hand. She tips off her stool and lands at my side.

“Dance with me, Tink,” I say as I pull her across the floor.

“Oh, well … I—” she stammers as she shuffles behind me. “I’m not a very good dancer.”

Finding an empty spot on the dance floor, I whip her around to face me. I snake an arm around her tiny waist and hold her other hand firmly in mine. Her head reaches me right at the top of my chest, and she looks up to meet my gaze. I smile and give her side a gentle squeeze.

“Lucky for you, I make a pretty fabulous dance partner. All you need to do is follow my lead.”

She fumbles a bit at first, but catches on to my cues like a champ. A gentle shift of my hip or a tug on her hand is enough to guide her, and soon we’re gliding across the floor. She feels delicate in my arms, almost breakable. I tip my head forward and breathe her in. She smells of summer and honeysuckles, and I resist the tiny niggle in my gut that’s trying to make a comeback. One song floats into the next, and I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been dancing.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asks, bringing me back from my trailing thoughts.

“Coach made me take lessons in high school. It started out as a joke. You know, a way for the basketball player to learn fancy footwork. It turns out I’m pretty damn good at it. I can two-step with the best of ‘em,” I explain with a shrug. I take that moment to swing her out, then tug her back into my embrace at the last minute.

She returns to me with a jolt and a giggle. “I must admit, Cain, this is even better than the bubble bath I had planned for this evening.”

My lip curls in mock disgust, and I scoff. “Well, I should hope so. It’s not exactly a glowing endorsement, saying you’d rather dance with me than bathe in your own filth.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks with a laugh.

“Bathing in your own filth. Sitting in your own stew. That’s just disgusting, Tink.” I make a gagging sound and shake my head for effect.

She slaps my arm and grins up at me. “Come on! Do you really get that dirty?”

She raises her eyebrows in question, and I nod my head solemnly. “Oh, believe me, I certainly do.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenges, leaning back in my arms to see me better.

“I’m downright filthy,” I whisper, my words filled with implication. I lean over into her space and feel the pressure of her spine curving into my hand.

“Are we still talking about baths?”

“Were we ever?” I ask, now nose to nose with her.

A smile spreads across her face, and her blue eyes tease me. She leans forward and buries her head in my chest, overcome with laughter. The sound pierces through me, seeps into my chest, and settles into my bones.

She exhales a soft sigh and rests her head on my chest when the music slows. While the storm in her slowly calms, replaced with contentment and peace, my soul has never felt more turbulent.

Feeling restless and uncomfortable in my own skin, I dip Celia in grand style, marking the end of our dance. We’re at the edge of the dance floor. I grab her waist and hoist her up to sit on a nearby brick ledge.

“Wait here and I’ll buy you another drink.”

I raise my eyebrows in question.

“Cranberry and vodka,” she replies to my silent question.

I snake my way through the crowd and try to sort out my head on the journey. She feels too good in my arms … too right. Her tiny waist that my hands nearly wrap around, her blue eyes deep as the darkest ocean waters, her addictive laugh that flows through my veins like electricity, lighting up every part of me; she’s creeping into my head, my heart, and my soul.