Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“She was doing it for me,” Everleigh’s sister says through the tablet. “I’m Heather, by the way.” She waves, and I raise my hand and wave back. “We’ve been doing it since we were kids, pretending we’re starring in a song, and we’re the band, but we get to pick each other’s songs.”
I look around for Hans, but he seems to have disappeared. How convenient that, for once, he does what I say. He clearly didn’t want to get roped into the dance party, which is, of course, exactly what Heather had in mind.
“Oh my god, sis,” Heather squeals. “Your husband is so hot. You didn’t tell us that!” Everleigh’s face is now as pink as her sister’s headscarf. “I have the perfect song for you,” Heather goes on, and by you, I realize she means me. “Come on. Show us what you got.”
“I really don’t think—”
“Please?” Heather begs. “Do it for me.”
Jesus. The poor girl has cancer. She’s wearing a headscarf because all her hair fell out from her treatments, and she probably feels like crap, which is why her sister is trying to cheer her up. How can I say no to that?
“I’m really not a good dancer,” I warn everyone. It’s not like it matters, though, since my protests fall on extra deaf ears.
“Here we go!” Heather yells, and there it is—an older pop song by some boy band that was extremely overplayed back in the day. My sister loved this song growing up. Unfortunately, I know it well.
I’m frozen, and I don’t know how to start. I know all the words, but how does one just launch into making a total ass of themselves? This is not my regular routine. This is most definitely not in my wheelhouse.
Everleigh sidles up and grabs my hand, my good hand, and helps me pull her into her arms. My other hand comes up, and my arm might be useless and stiff today, but she makes it easy to guide her along. She’s belting out lyrics, and a deep rumble of a laugh works its way up. Even when she grabs my hands and tries to make me shake them, I don’t stop laughing. It only dies away when she turns around in my arms and wriggles her tight little bottom almost right against my front, totally innocently, making me pretty much swallow my tongue.
Boner control. Emergency boner control. I’m wearing my usual—slacks and a button-down. I don’t do office casual around the house. My jeans rarely make an appearance, and sweats or track pants or whatever just aren’t in my repertoire. The point is, they do little to hide my growing erection, so I try and make it part of the dance, dropping my hand in front of my crotch and angling away, which means turning to the screen and, yes, shaking my own bottom. It makes Everleigh erupt in a fit of giggles, which makes Heather follow, and damn it, it’s such a nice sound that it cancels out my nerves, embarrassment, and reluctance to keep dancing.
Ass forward, of course.
I’m so fucking glad Hans isn’t here to observe this. Then again, knowing him, he’s probably hiding somewhere in this room and recording the whole thing. For bribery or for a raise later. Kidding. It would be for more nefarious things than that. Perhaps something like this:
We’re getting pizza with vegetables on it because some parts of the pizza should be healthy, and don’t argue with me on that one. Oh, and I’m adding sardines. Just an FYI. Wait, what’s that? Protests? Remember that video…
The flutter in my chest tells me I’m enjoying this despite the unexpected erection debacle and the hearty amount of embarrassment that comes with being put on the spot when it comes to dancing along to and lip-syncing pop ballads. Actually, I might even be having fun. Fun, in this house, is basically a four-letter curse word.
After the song is over, Everleigh claps. She’s flushed, her hair is a wild, untamed mane of a mess from all the head banging earlier, and her eyes are still dancing, even though the music is over, too. From the tablet, Heather claps as well.
“Bravo, Darius,” she says. “You have some killer moves. You’re good-looking, you’re rich, and you’re a good sport. My sister won the lottery when she was half conned into a marriage of convenience with you.”
“Heather!”
“Oh no,” she exclaims, putting a hand to her mouth as she pretends to be shocked. “I’ve gone and said something scandalous.”
“No.” I walk to the doorway before I can get roped into another song. Also, I have a bit of a problem south of my beltline to keep trying to hide, and it’s not exactly easy. “Not scandalous. It’s not something we all don’t already know.”
“Still. Heather…”
“I’m sorry, Darius,” Heather says and laughs as I keep heading for the door. “Don’t leave because I’m rude!”