Mygirl.
I’m way over my head. We’ve never cleared the boundaries. And they are blurring. I want them to blur like the cognac blurs my brain, in public or not.
Kat turns in her spot without breaking the rhythm or steps and checks me out, now facing me.
“Where did you learnbachatamoves?” Her smile is more friendly and surprised than she wants it to seem.
It’s okay.
I spin her in her spot.
She is smooth. Sexy. Perfect.
“Mexico. Tulum. I like learning new things,” I say, my eyes locked with hers, the room suddenly non-existent, as if it’s just me and her.
My hands take hers. I want to pull her close. I want a kiss, even though I hate lipstick.
She spins in her spot again, continuing the steps. She is good. Leading.Fuck, Archer, your girl is taking charge.
But that’s Kat. She is beauty incarnate. Lust. She is so many things. And when we sway our hips in that intimatebachatamove, her lips start spreading in a smile. “You are a good dancer.”
“Why haven’t we danced before?” I ask.
“Because all we do when we are together is fuck, right? That’s the deal?”
Her smile fades.
The words hurt both of us. I hate that she gave me something to lose. Her. One more thing on a long list. And hate when her mood switches.
“We can do many things together,” I try.
“My dad found out some important info. We found the mole.”
Really? Now?
We are dancing. All eyes are on us. I try to find a connection, start a conversation that might be more important that any other we’ve had before.
But hey, fucking work.
“Wanna talk about it some other time?” I lose the smile. “You don’t enjoy my company? There’s always something else, Kat.”
“You just said we can do other things together.”
“I didn’t mean work, Kat.”
She sounds like my dad.
“It’s important,” she says, blinking, that fire in her eyes changing into the dull glow of work mode.
The song stops.
Westop, our hands falling away from each other.
Another song comes on, too loud and cheerful for my current state—connecting. “I’m not in the working mood.”
“What mood are you in?”
“Kat mood.”