Dylan handed her the drink and clinked their glasses as he slid onto the bench beside her. “To old friends.”
Sara drank, peering at him over the edge of her glass. Her stomach fluttered as she watched him. This was the closest she’d been to a guy in a long time.
He set his nearly empty pint glass on the table and turned his head toward her. “Okay, Vegas Rules.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
“You know, ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ You can’t tell anyone how badly I suck at line dancing.”
She laughed. “Deal.”
He looked relieved, but only briefly. Then he frowned. “Uh oh. Now you have a secret you can use against me. It’s only fair if you give me one too.”
“A secret?” She instantly thought of the heat pooling in her belly because of his proximity and decided sharing that would be too revealing.
“Make it something good.”
She arched a brow at him. “Really? Not being a very good line dancer is hardly a ‘good’ secret. I think that gets you something along the lines of my being a bit clumsy. If we’d kept dancing, you would’ve seen it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You’re a great dancer. You’re making that up.”
“I am a great dancer.” She shot him a so there look. “But I’m still clumsy. It’s my—never mind.” She’d been about to say it was her sensory processing disorder, but why bring that up? Breaking free from her family meant she didn’t have to be the girl with SPD. She wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed, but she’d wanted to keep tonight light.
“Hmmm, you’re very intriguing, Miss Archer.”
She turned her head and saw that his gaze held an underlying glint. Curiosity. Interest. Confidence flowed into her from that look. She could do this—flirt, attract, seduce. “So far these secrets are lame. You owe me another one. And make it good.” She narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was a coquettish way.
He chuckled. “I do? Let’s see.” He tapped his finger against his lower lip, drawing her attention to his mouth. Which in turn forced her thoughts to what it would be like to kiss him. “You should run screaming in the other direction. I’m bad news.”
The way he lowered his voice to deliver his warning made her toes curl. “Why? You can’t drop a bomb like that and not explain it.” She finished her lemon drop.
He eyed her empty glass. “Another round?”
She hadn’t planned on more than one drink tonight, but she could handle one more. Besides, the evening was becoming far too interesting to bail now. “Sure. But talk.”
He signaled for the server who came and took their order. Exhaling, he leaned back against the wall. “You seem like a nice person. I’m . . . just a fun-loving guy looking for a good time now and again.” His gaze was guarded, but seemed to smolder anyway.
“So you pick up girls in bars a lot?”
He smiled enigmatically, his eyes never leaving hers, as he picked up his glass. “Occasionally.”
She ran her fingertips along the smooth stem of her glass. “Is that what you’re doing tonight?”
“I hadn’t decided until now. But I guess it’s ultimately up to you.” The look he gave her as he set his empty glass on the table nearly ignited her into a ball of flames. No guy had ever looked at her like that. Like she was something good enough to eat. She shifted in her seat and wished she had the guts to do what Craig had recommended—Dylan had all but suggested it. So why not? Why couldn’t she have a hot one-night-stand with Dylan Westcott? She knew him—enough anyway that he wasn’t some random stranger. Honestly, it was the best case scenario. And he definitely seemed interested . . .
Return to Only In My Dreams
