Don’t Be in Love

29

Don’t Mention His Upper Thigh — Adelaide

The chair beside me scuffed the floor. Dorian was up and extending his hand.

“Dance with me,” he said.

“I don’t have much of an option, do I?”

“Not really.”

So I rose and took his hand, satisfying everyone around us and torturing myself in the process. We left our table and joined the small group of couples dancing in front of the jazz musicians. The older couples all swayed to the soft saxophone and lull of the singer’s voice.

His hands filled the space on my waist while mine occupied the back of his neck.

“Are they watching?” I asked, my back facing the tables.

“Oh yeah.” He nodded, looking past my shoulders.

“What are they doing?”

“Making snogging faces.”

“You’re kidding,” I said in horror, twisting so I could see our table.

Not a single one of them was looking at us.

“You’re the worst.” I shoved his shin with my boot, replacing his satisfied smirk with a scrunched brow.

“Christ.” His leg faltered for a split second before he was meeting my eyes again.

“It was a nudge, not a kick,” I argued.

“Says the one with a working shin.”

“You’re a baby.”

“Am not. You’re stronger than you look,” he defended himself. “And I’d know because you try to lead when we dance.”

“I like to think I’m good enough to lead, Mr. Blackwood.”

“And I’d let you lead me wherever you’d like, Ms. Adorno. Maybe without a stiletto in my leg though.”

“I’ll try harder next time.”

“Next time it is.” He nodded.

In my heels, I could see him so much better. Sitting across from him three times a week in the dim light of the backroom removed any chances of taking in the true brown of his eyes and the stubble he consistently shaved above his lip.

“What are you thinking about?” His head had a slight tilt.

The shape of your brow. The scar close to your scalp. The broadness of your shoulders. The way you say my name. The light that’s cupping the right side of your face.

“The word for when artists depict light in a painting,” I responded.

His brow rose. “Chiaroscuro.”

“Of course you’d know that.”

“Of course that’s what you’re thinking about right now.” He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, what are you thinking about?”

“You don’t actually want to know. You’re just asking because I asked.”

“True, but now I want to know.”

“I’m thinking about how you’ve stepped on my foot three times already.”

“No, I haven’t.” I backed up anyway.

He pulled me back in. “Maybe I lied.” He winked.

My knees were weaker than the spine of a two-hundred year-old book. The only way I know how to play it off was opening my mouth. “You’re derailing the conversation. What’s on your mind?”

“Why the price of coffee has increased so much lately.”

“Dorian.”

“Adelaide.”

His eyes met mine in a moment of thought. They were dark. Conflicting. As if he hoped he could just pass the words swirling around in his mind through a look rather than voicing them. Then he paused on my mouth and regret instantly hit my throat.

I stared at his full lips, debating the consequences of kissing him.

Get him out of your system , my personal group of therapists had said during book club.

Maybe there was some type of truth to that. The last time we had kissed was four weeks ago and I already needed another fill.

“Are they looking at us now?” he asked.

I ripped my gaze away from his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, actually. They’re all staring at your ass.”

He twisted immediately without loosening his grip. “You liar,” he narrowed his eyes. But a charming smirk escaped his lips. “It’s concerning how much you enjoy humbling me.”

“If not me, then who?”

“My sister, my mother, James—”

“James does not humble you,” I argued.

“That’s what he wants you to think.”

“I’m thinking that has more to do with you than it does him.”

A pause. Then, “You’re quite fond of him.” He watched me as we swayed, waiting.

“He’s become a really good friend,” I said softly.

“What category does that put me in?”

I pressed my lips together. “To Be Determined.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I still can’t read you.”

“Ask me something then. Anything.”

I pressed my lips together. “What do you think of me? Truly. Because I can’t figure it out.”

That’s the question? his eyes said.

That’s the question , I nodded.

“I’m just surprised you don’t already know,” he responded.

“It’s obvious?”

“I thought so.” He paused, as if he was waiting for me to tell him I was joking. “What do you think of me?”

“Oof, that’s a loaded question.”

“God forbid I ask the same thing. Fine, what’s something you like about me?”

“I find the tomato tattooed on your upper thigh incredibly hot.”

He turned away to laugh but I didn’t miss the dimple appearing in his cheek.

“Dorian Blackwood, are you blushing?”

“You would too if someone’s hand was on your arse,” he admitted.

“My hand is not on your ass!” I lifted my hands off his body immediately.

Laughter shot out of him like a canyon. “I was referencing the older woman behind me. Now who’s blushing?” He took my hands and returned them to his shoulders.

“It’s because you’re looking at me like that.”

“Looking at you like what?” he asked as if he was innocent.

“Like you have something to say. Do you have something to say?”

“I always have something to say.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Well, it’s really not appropriate at the moment.”

“I just said your thigh tattoo was sexy; I think we’re past appropriate. You have to tell me.”

“No, I don’t,” he debated.

“You do. Birthday policy.”

“You loathe celebrations. Since when did you start upholding their policies?”

“It doesn’t matter when there’s no expiration date! Now tell. I doubt the woman behind us with her hearing aid half out is listening.”

He shook his head determined. “I’m not telling.”

“Come on,” I pouted.

“Adelaide,” he gave me a level look.

“It can be my birthday gift.”

“I think you look beautiful, that’s all.”

I never understood what people meant when they said words carried weight, because people almost never meant what they said. But right now, I got it. Because his words felt so full, so serious, that if they were physical entities, I could hold them in my hands, and they’d pull me right down.

I cleared my throat. “How’s that inappropriate?”

“I gave you the censored version, that’s why. I also don’t think you’re supposed to find your friends beautiful.”