Page 42 of Crazy Thing
“Took you dancing?” Karli chuckles tightly. “You mean,the night hetrieddancing, crashed into a waiter and ended up wearing your salmon Caesar salad all over his shirt?”
“Right. In his defense, Darius has never exactly been the dancing type. And he’d had a bit too much to drink that night.” Cecily nibbles on the corner of her lip. “I hope he doesn’t find it too stalker-ish, me showing up here. It’s just that, one of my friends is dating a guy from the hockey team and when I found out she was coming here from New York, I invited myself to tag a long.”
Karli’s expression is genuine but still wary. “Well, my brother is not really a fan of the ‘stalker-ish’ thing.” She flinches with sympathy.
Cecily bites on the edge of her French-manicured thumbnail. “Shit…You’re probably right.”
But it’s too late for her to do anything about it now. Because Darius’s sedan pulls up in the driveway at that moment. He steps out of the car and my stomach dips.
That man isfine.
Monday to Friday Dariusalways looks like a billion bucks, in his button-down shirts, silk neckties and tailored pants.
ButSaturday afternoon Darius? He’s absolutely mouthwatering.
He’s wearing a blue flannel shirt. Sleeves rolled back to his elbows to reveal his tattooed forearms. Front unbuttoned over a plain white T-shirt. Dark wash jeans.
A pretty basic outfit, yet with his trademark grimace and that lock of golden hair tumbling effortlessly over his scrunched brow, he somehow makes it look expensive.
Yup.Saturday afternoon Dariuslooks like a billion bucks, too.
He steps onto the grassy path leading toward the gathering.His eyes are downcast as he types on his phone. I barely resist rolling my eyes. He’s working. As always.
I want to look away. I really do. But it’s impossible. Especially when he glances up and—from all the way across the yard—his eyes hook onto mine.
My pulse starts drumming in my ears, so loudly that it drowns out the music and the laughter and the conversations unfolding around me. All I’m aware of is Darius, tall and scowling and honey-eyed and headed straight toward me.
Time slows down as he prowls through the crowd, ignoring every person who calls out to him or tries to get his attention.
My hand leaps up to my tangled hair, absently twirling the wet, knotted strands. I feel self-conscious and I suddenly find myself hyperaware of what I must look like. A sunburnt, pink-haired, drowned rat probably, after frolicking around in the pool earlier.
And the fact that Darius won’t take his eyes off me only makes me feel more self-aware.
But when he’s just a few footsteps outside of my personal bubble, Cecily steps into his path. “Darius!” She throws her arms around him.
At the force of her body slamming into his, he startles and his gaze flits down to her grinning face.
“Cecily…” he mutters with a puzzled expression. He promptly reaches for her wrists, removing her arms from around his neck.
“Surprise!” She squeals in his face, trying to hug him again. “Are you surprised to see me?”
Darius continues to hold her wrists, awkwardly keeping her writhing body at arm’s length. “Very,” he says mechanically,not a hint of a smile on his face. In fact, he looks irritated.
But Cecily doesn’t seem to get it. Every time she tries to tackle him, he dodges, all while keeping a grip on her wrists.
The result is something that looks like a mix between folk dancing and arm wrestling and some lesser known form of self-defense. It’s weird.
His heavy gaze moves in my direction, skimming my crazy hair, my bare torso and my wet, crinkled skirt. I can’t stand the weight of his eyes on my skin. Not when he’s got another woman trying to climb him like a jungle gym.
“Lemonade!” I say, bolting to my feet and slinging my satchel up my shoulder. “Anybody want another bourbon lemonade?” I grab the half-full pitcher.
“Hey! Where are you going with that?!”
“Bring back the booze!”
“Ziggy! Come here!”
The girls yell after me but I’m gone with the wind before anyone can stop me. “I’ll be back with more drinks!” I promise.
