Better Hate than Never (The Wilmot Sisters, #2)(21)

Jaw clenching, I stare at the most obvious exception—Kate.

“Bea only told me when I got here that it was a last-minute decision,” Jamie says beside me, handing me a beer. “I’d have warned you if I knew sooner.”

I take a long pull from the bottle and tear my gaze away from Kate. “It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” he mutters, before taking a swig of his own.

“Okay!” Sula claps her hands to get the group’s attention. She is, of course, standing on the coffee table, her cheeks flushed to a bronze almost as deep as her hair.

“She’s lit, isn’t she?” Jamie asks.

I nod, smiling as I remember the first Tacos and Tangos Sula birthday party I came to three years ago. It was just a few months after Jules dragged me to my first game night, but Sula and I had already formed a fast, intense bond over Risk and board-game world domination. “Every birthday,” I tell him. “Tango, tacos, and a very intoxicated Sula.”

Jamie grins as she does a few dance steps across the coffee table and explains that folks who know how to tango go to the left side of the room, those who need a tutorial, to the right.

“You familiar with the tango?” I ask him.

“I am. My mother insisted all of her sons take ballroom lessons. You know the tango by now, I assume?”

“I was brought into the tango fold three years ago.”

He whistles appreciatively. “We have a master on our hands.”

Kate’s smoky laugh cracks through the air like a whip and lassos my attention. I glance her way and see she’s talking to someone who I have to begrudgingly admit is good-looking, standing at just about her height, well-dressed, put together. They’ve got a softie-with-nerd-glasses vibe going. Kate doesn’t smile for them, but they have her attention—worse, her laughter.

Hot aggravation slides beneath my skin.

I tear my gaze away and refocus on Jamie, who’s watching me curiously. “I know the tango, but I’m no master at it,” I tell him, trying to move past my little slip. “As you’ll see very soon.”

As if on cue, Margo saunters my way. “Let’s go,” she says. “Sula’s too busy hollering at the newbies about tango’s fundamentals. Whisk me away.”

“As the lady wishes.” I hand Jamie my beer and shrug off my jacket, setting it aside. Then I take the beer back and bolt the rest of it. Margo hoots appreciatively. Next, I make quick work of my sleeves, cuffing and pushing them up my arms to my elbows, and offer her my hand. “Shall we?”

She smiles. “We shall. West—shit, I mean Jamie. Sorry.”

He dips his head. “No apology necessary.”

Margo jerks her head toward Bea, who walks back into the room from the hallway, searching the floor. “Your dance partner awaits.” She bites her lip. “I say this with the deepest love for Bea, no trash talk, just truth—you do know the beating your toes are about to take?”

Jamie grins, his gaze finding Bea. “I have some experience dancing with Beatrice.” He sets down his beer on the table beside him and says, already strolling toward her. “She knows she can step on my toes all she wants.”

Margo sighs as we watch them meet and talk, Bea smiling up at Jamie as he wraps an arm around her waist and their hands find each other’s. They take one slow step, then another, then shift, quickly, Bea laughing as they bump into each other. Jamie bends to whisper something in her ear.

“They’re so damn cute,” Margo says.

I grunt.

She rolls her eyes. “Now, now, no grunting. Some people are happy to find a partner for the dance of life, and we’re happy for them.”

“We both know that’s not my thing. Why would it be?” I take her waist and she leans in. “When I already have you?”

“Stop flirting.” She laughs, falling into rhythm with me, our steps aligned. “I’m a happily married woman.”

I grin down at her as we turn and take another slow, long step. We pass Kate as the hot nerd extends a hand, as if offering her the dance. I miss a step and nearly twist an ankle when I trip over Margo.

“Sorry!” Margo yelps. “My bad. Sula says I’m always topping from the bottom. I can’t help but do it tangoing, too.”

I blink, wrenching my gaze away from Kate and focusing on Margo. “You shouldn’t be sorry. That was all my fault.”

Margo’s gaze trails to where mine just left, landing on Kate. Then she smiles up at me. “Actually, you know what, I better make sure Rowan’s not eating another churro.”

“Margo—”

“Thanks for the dance!” She presses a kiss to my cheek, then spins off, leaving me a few measly feet from Kate, who stands alone. With no hot nerd beside her anymore.

Our eyes meet. Kate gives me a dispassionate once-over. “Petruchio.”

“Katerina.”

“Lost your partner pretty quick, didn’t you?” she asks.

I feel myself losing the battle with my self-control as I stare at her.

Be nice, the voice of reason inside me whispers.

Goddammit, I don’t want to be nice to Katerina. As I look at her, every thought racing through my brain is as far from nice as possible.

“What happened to yours?” I ask. “Lost them before you could even dance. Did you make them cry?”