He groans.
Winces in pain once more and then lets out a loud . . . forceful reaction . . .
“Golly . . . goodness,” he groans.
Golly goodness?
No motherfucker?
No holy shit?
No fuckety fuck fuck?
Just a simple, classic, George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life “golly goodness.”
I snort.
My hand covers my face and I attempt to hold back the laughter that’s bubbling up inside of me.
If I know one thing about JP Cane, it’s that he’s not the golly goodness type.
He’s the guy that whispers the words throbbing cock in your ear, repeatedly, just for the hell of it.
Unsure of what to do, I consider bending down to ask him what happened, when an old man behind JP stands shakily from his chair. That’s when I see the pushed-out chair in the walkway. Oh no, JP must have been struck solid while walking by. With the tip of his black cane, the old man taps JP on the leg and says, “Watch where you’re going, son.”
With no regard for what he caused, or even a hint of an apology, the ballsy old man hobbles away, muttering something about people getting in his way.
A waiter quickly helps JP to his feet, lifting him under his arms. A few of the men who were just shaking his hand come to ask if he’s all right, but all I can focus on is the way JP is staring at me as if I’m the one who knocked him out with a chair.
“I’m good,” he says, dusting off his suit.
“Are you sure?” one of the waiters asks. “I can get you some ice.”
“Not necessary. I think the only thing bruised here is my pride. Wasn’t expecting a seventy-year-old man to take me out like that.”
Another snort.
Another glare from him.
“I’ll be good.” He shakes off the waiter and closes the space between us once again, takes my hand in his, and leads me to the dance floor.
I’m still chuckling when he pulls me close to his body, his hand on my lower back, his other holding our palms closely together. With his mouth right next to my ear, he asks, “Did you find that entertaining?”
“Very much so,” I answer as he pulls me in tighter. My chest is pressed against his, our legs tangling, and I honestly can’t tell where I begin and he ends. Our bodies fuse together, like magnets, drawing in, pulling, with no release.
It’s unexpected.
It’s damning.
It’s not a position I want to be in with JP, but it doesn’t seem like one I can get out of.
“So, me getting hurt and humiliated in front of the masses, that’s comical to you?”
“A little slapstick humor never hurt anyone. But it wasn’t what happened to you, it was your reaction.” I laugh softly as he moves me around the dance floor. We’re slowly swaying to the music, an instrumental version of Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams, but the way he’s twirling me makes the room a blur, and I can’t focus on anything but us and only us.
The stillness in his breath as we float over the parquet floor.
The tight grip he has on my hand, guiding me to our next move.
The gentle whisper of his words over my ear as he speaks just low enough to keep our conversation private.
“And what about my reaction made you chuckle?” He releases me, twirls me out so my dress floats against the whoosh of wind, then yanks me back close to his chest. My breath catches in my lungs and my eyes widen from the elegant dance move I wasn’t expecting.
When I don’t answer right away, he lowers his lips closer to my ear and says, “I’m waiting, Kelsey.”
Waiting.
He’s waiting for . . . oh, an answer to his question.
What’s happening to me? One spin around the dance floor and I can’t seem to keep my mind straight.
My brain feels foggy, disrupted, disoriented. His warm palm slides to the spot just above the curve of my ass and all I can think about is . . . are people watching? Do they think we’re a couple? Is he going to lower his hand any farther?
I wet my lips and focus on the conversation. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but golly goodness doesn’t seem like something that would ever come out of your mouth.”
“You’d be correct about that,” he answers, and then, to my utter surprise, he braces himself and dips me. My startled gasp makes him smile as he lifts me back up. “What did you expect me to say, though? That old fucking bastard just Tonya Harding-ed my ass, nearly cutting my dick off with the edge of his chair. I didn’t think motherfucker was appropriate for the setting.”
The music slows, and so do we. It almost feels as though he created his own dance to this song, and he led me through it with precision and grace, something I didn’t think he had in him.