“What is this?” I gaze around the pulsing dance floor, feeling sweaty just from the proximity of the writhing bodies.
“Salsa night.” Deiss loops an arm around my waist and steers me toward the mass of people.
“I can’t dance.” I have to lean toward his ear so he can hear me.
“I find it hard to believe there’s anything in the world Olivia Bakersfield can’t do.” Deiss pulls me into his chest, pressing one thigh against mine so his step forward prompts my leg to go backward.
His body moves with mine, smoothly guiding me deeper into the fray. Our eyes lock, and the rest of the room disappears. It’s hard to imagine this man has been an enigma to me for so many years. There are so many clues I’ve missed: The glint in his eyes at his pleasure of our dance. The way his gaze slips down, tracing my neck and the curve of my breasts, following the line of my arm to where my hand folds into his. The curl of his lip at what he sees.
Emboldened by his approval, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and relax into his lead, allowing my shoulders to loosen and my hips to sway. The moves aren’t difficult to pick up, and I slide into them, feeling the beat pulse its way into my blood. And then Deiss spins me, and I remember what it’s like to feel loose and carefree.
Hours later, walking down the sidewalk beneath the glowing streetlights, my body is still buzzing. Music echoes in my head, and I squeeze the beats into Deiss’s hand. I want to tell him he’s amazing, to thank him for making me feel so alive after so many years of being frozen. Instead, I catch sight of beautiful brunette who passes, and I ask him if he slept with Zoe.
I’m shocked when I hear the words leave my mouth. It’s an amateur dating move. Not to mention simple self-preservation suggests a person shouldn’t search for answers they don’t want to hear. I can’t take it back, though. It would involve pretending I don’t care, and I’m not sure I’m still the kind of person capable of doing that. Especially not with Deiss.
“I was going to,” he says quietly. “I intended to sleep with her in St. Lulia, and I also went out with the intention to hook up the night you moved into the loft.”
“And?” I don’t know why I want details. Deiss certainly doesn’t owe them to me, and my stomach is already queasy at the thought of him on the prowl, all sex panther and irresistible. But I seem to be on a roll.
“And I couldn’t do it,” he says.
A disbelieving grunt sneaks up from my throat. “You forget that I’ve met Zoe. I’m fully aware that you could’ve.”
“No, Liv.” Deiss tugs my hand, pulling me into him, then slides his arms around my waist. He drops his forehead to mine so I can see the sincerity in his expression. “I couldn’t. Both times, I knew I was only looking for a distraction from you. And it didn’t feel right to use a woman like that.”
My heart lurches at his implication, and I thread my fingers behind his neck and tug his mouth toward mine to keep myself from asking more questions. They’re unnecessary. I don’t need Deiss to explain to me why he didn’t act on his attraction. I already understand. Just like me, he learned from his past. We learned that people leave when you let them inside. And he wanted me to stay in his life.
My lips meet his, and I kiss him to say I’m hoping for the exact same thing.
* * *
—
“Well, what do you think?” Phoebe snaps her fingers in front of my face, bringing me back from my endless rationalization over the secrets I’m keeping. She still doesn’t know that Deiss and I are together, just like Deiss doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed his confidence to Simone.
I blink at her and feel a pang of guilt. I’ll tell her soon, I reassure myself for the hundredth time. It makes more sense to wait. The longer Deiss and I date, the more excited Phoebe will be for us, and the less it will appear the two of us are having a fling. And giving Simone time to prove she’ll keep Deiss’s secret also proves it wasn’t so bad that I let it slip in the first place. It’s best for everyone if I keep my mouth shut for a little while longer.
Even if this is true, it doesn’t justify the fact that I haven’t told anyone about the meeting I had on Wednesday with the manager of Bears in Captivity. I’m now officially contracted to do all the graphic work for their band. It’s great news, the kind of thing you tell your friends immediately.
It’s also the kind of guaranteed income that frees me up to move out of Deiss’s loft.