“No?” We were knee to knee now. Adam leaned forward, his elbow hitched on the bar, the other hand still on my arm. “What did the suit do?”
I shuddered at the very thought of the straw that had broken my back. “I was standing beside him while he discussed a med-tech company preparing to go public.” I waved off the topic since it didn’t matter. “We were in a group of a few of his colleagues. Jason reached up to his ear, started digging, then looked at what was on his finger and flicked it off.”
I nearly retched at the memory. Oh god, why? I couldn’t get the visual out of my mind.
Adam blinked slowly, then angled his upper body toward the bar instead of me. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. It was not good.”
He rubbed his chin and contemplated his beer bottle. “So, it wasn’t him telling you not to get your nose pierced. It wasn’t that he didn’t like your dress andtoldyou so. It wasn’t him taking you to a mixer for his college and ignoring you on your birthday. It was him being human? Yeah, maybe a little gross, but still human.”
Why did it suddenly feel like there was a boot on my neck?
“Maybe it was those things too,” I admitted.
He gave me a wry look. “Yeah, maybe it was.”
“My dad liked him,” I explained. “He approved.”
“Daddy’s approval means a lot?”
My face heated. Adam Wainwright, renowned fuckboy, was making me feel like a child. I didn’t like that. Not just the feeling, but that it was coming from him.
“My dad is my only living relative I have contact with, so yeah. I want him to approve of my choices. Whetheryouapprove of that is up to you.” I swirled my straw in my drink, then, tired of this conversation, hopped up from my stool and headed for the tiny dance floor.
Bruce Springsteen filtered through crackly speakers. The music was as dated as the decor and customers, but I’d make Bruce my bitch anyway. Holding my drink up, I swayed my hips so the tulle around my legs swished. I danced until it didn’t matter that my relationship had ended tonight. I danced away my heartache, refusing to hurt over Jason. I danced away my birthday blues. I danced away my embarrassment.
I didn’t dance alone long, though. My drink was plucked from my hand, then Adam was there, spinning me in circles.
“There’s the music-box ballerina,” he said, grinning. “You’re a good girl, Baddie. Ignore me, okay?”
I laughed. “Baddie?”
“Yeah, suits you. I’m going to call you that, because youarea baddie.”
Amused, I posed with my hip out. “Glad you noticed.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
He spun me until I was dizzy then rocked me like a boat in a storm. I laughed through a John Cougar Mellencamp song, and we sang together with Sting to “Roxanne.” Then we got more drinks and danced some more. No more heavy conversations, thank goodness. Adam and I danced and drank, laughed, and sang.
My mood lifted.
My birthday was saved.
By the time he walked me back to my door and gave me a pat on the head and one final twirl, I was pretty certain I’d made a new friend…
Who still didn’t know my name.