She felt her head give way, free at last. And suddenly, she regretted that he’d let her go so quickly. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to a man, felt someone’s arm wrapped around her, holding her.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Ethan was a big hugger from way back, but given the fact he preferred guys and considered her a sister, he didn’t count in the way she needed.
She sighed, overwhelmed by the all-too-familiar loneliness she’d struggled with since being left at the altar.
“You okay? Does it hurt?” BFG clearly misunderstood her sigh, running his hand through her hair, strong fingers stroking her scalp in what she knew was meant to be comforting. He missed the mark by a mile, however, as her girl parts perked up and paid attention.
“I’m fine.” Then her gaze slid down, able to take in his sweater for the first time, and she laughed. Then she laughed even louder when he put his finger under her chin, drawing her eyes back to his face.
“Up here, Joy,” he joked.
Chelsea shook her head. “That sweater is…wow.”
He was wearing a festive green and red sweater, adorned with the lights that had trapped her. If it had just been that, it would have been cute, if boring, but he’d gone the extra mile. A huge stocking was safety-pinned to the bottom hem, covering the crotch of his jeans, drawing her attention exactly where he wanted it.
Emblazoned beneath the lights on the sweater were the words, “My eyes are up here.”
“I’m an in-it-to-win-it guy,” he explained. “So when I heard there was a prize for best sweater, I did some serious shopping looking for the best one. And since arriving tonight, I’ve done some recon, and I think you’re my biggest competition.”
She agreed that of all the sweaters she’d seen, hers and his were probably the most creative and funny. “I made the sweater myself,” she admitted. “I’m sure that’s gotta be worth extra credit.”
“Handmade was not a requirement of the contest,” he said. “Might have to point that out to the judges.”
“Where did you get yours?” she asked.
“Where I get everything. Ordered it online. Amazon Prime for the win. Although I did add the lights.”
“You used shipping tape,” she pointed out. “Pretty lazy, if you ask me. I’m definitely working the handmade, crafty, mad-glue-gun-skills angle. There’s no way that won’t sway the vote in my favor.”
He considered that, then gave her a wicked grin. “Tell you what. Let’s put a little wager on this. If I win, you have to dance with me—a slow dance.”
“And if I win?” she asked, in a voice that was too fun and flirty to come from her.
“You have to slow dance with me,” he replied, without a moment’s hesitation.
“That’s a prize for me?”
“Of course it is,” he replied shamelessly. “And, in the unlikely event that neither of us win, you still have to slow dance with me. Consolation prize. I take my losses pretty hard.”
Chelsea considered requesting a different prize if she won, then realized she wanted exactly what he was offering. It had been a long time since she’d slow danced with a man.
A vision of her and Rick sharing their first dance at their wedding reception drifted through her mind. She had dreamed of that dance for years, and it never happened.
BFG studied her face, and she realized she was wearing her damn heart on her sleeve, letting her sadness creep out.
“Well.” The moment turned slightly awkward when she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Probably best to cut and run before she made a jackass of herself. “Um…I, uh…I guess I should…”
He cupped her chin, studying her face more closely than she was accustomed to. “Is it a bet?”
Shit. She really needed to get out of her own head sometimes. Chelsea nodded, then smiled. “Sure.”
With one fingertip, he stroked her cheek. “Those dimples of yours are going to be the death of me. Fucking adorable.”
She felt herself blush, aware she was falling for his charm too easily. While she’d gone out with her besties more times than she could count since June, she’d taken the term wallflower to new levels, constantly hovering in the background. The few guys who’d asked her out hadn’t captured her interest like BFG. His attention felt nice and—for lack of a better word—sincere. She didn’t get creepy, only-in-it-for-sex vibes from him, which had been the problem with more than a few of the guys she’d dated the past couple of months.
“Now, what about that drink I owe you?” he asked.
She raised her empty wineglass. “I’m going to take you up on that. I was just headed to the kitchen for another glass of Chardonnay when I bumped into you and your sweater.”
