Under the Table(27)

Zoey looked up at the faint sound of the voice. It was a man, and a handsome one at that. And young, possibly a year or two out of college. He was sporting one of those expensive tattered sweaters. He also had a close-cut beard that outlined his jaw, and a small mustache to match.

He took a seat without being invited, forcing Zoey to slide over to accommodate him. And she did, thinking, Why not? It was better than being the matron table monitor.

“I’m not alone. I’m on roofie patrol, watching the drinks,” she said, pushing one of the shots in front of him. “Go ahead and make my job easier.”

“Join me!”

All the yelling to be heard over the music was giving her a headache. She held up her champagne glass to appease him. She watched him down the shot and give the little head shake that often accompanies the action. The music had switched up and she watched as the rest of her party started returning to the table. She felt a surge of satisfaction when she saw Tristan’s smile become tight and guarded as he made his approach.

“Everything okay here, Zoey?” She lip-read him perfectly.

She gave a bright smile and said, “It’s fine,” not caring if he could hear her. Ruth’s friends were already squeezing in beside him and yelling their introductions, with Ruth leaning over the table to make hers, treating college boy to a healthy shot of cleavage. Zoey slid over to the far end of the booth, grateful that this was one of those problems that was going to take care of itself.

Tristan sat down next to her before she could leave the booth entirely. The girls tried to hand him his shot, but he waved it off with a point to the other man, who happily drank that one as well. The music switched again, had slowed down. For the first time since they arrived Zoey didn’t have to scream her own thoughts to hear herself think. Then she felt a faint brush of fingertips down her forearm. The kind of touch that set her skin to tingle.

“Dance with me,” he said as he stood back up and held out his hand. It was the first time he hadn’t asked for her permission on something. It was more of a gentle command. She took it and let him lead her to the dance floor. The last time Zoey had done any dancing was at her wedding. She didn’t care. He found them some space, gave her a twirl, and when he stopped, they were face-to-face.

And they danced. They began to move with the music. Zoey was clumsy at first, feeling like she was dancing in cement shoes. She closed her eyes to try and block everything out and find the rhythm. When she found the beat and reopened them, his stare was still fixed on her, intense and overwhelming. She looked down at her feet.

Tristan moved in close for a moment to bring his mouth to her ear. “Relax, girlfriend, we’re doing fine.”

Zoey looked back up and this time was able to recognize the elation in his eyes. It was like he had given her an engraved invitation to cut loose. She accepted.

They swayed and grooved in unison, their gazes now locked on each other. They didn’t touch, didn’t bump or grind. But it was sensual, oh, so sensual, and Zoey felt all the other dancers fade off into the background until it was the two of them alone on the dance floor. His arms didn’t freakishly flail. His feet didn’t look like he was stomping grapes. All the energy and motion generated from his hips. Music was putting him at ease, and Zoey was eager to follow him there. It ended much too soon. When the song was over and the spell was broken, he extended an arm for her to walk ahead of him back to the table, and she did so on legs that threatened to wobble.

Tristan had danced himself into a sweat and abandoned his jacket, tossing it into the booth. Zoey noted that his shirt had a strategic amount of shirttail not tucked into his pants. She found it unlikely that he came upon the carelessly casual look by accident.

Zoey sat back down and fanned her face, blaming her glistening forehead on the excursion on the dance floor. Ruth and her friends were well into the festivities and there was little room left at the table. College guy had called over his wingman, and the table was littered with glasses as the server tried in vain to keep up with clearing the empties. Zoey didn’t dare look directly at Tristan for fear he would be able to read her thoughts, but she could feel him watching her. She reached for a random champagne glass she hoped was hers and took a sip, peering at him momentarily from above the rim. Tristan’s attention was diverted when Abbie grabbed his arm and dragged him back to the dance floor. He continued to dance with anyone who asked, and Zoey went back to watching. This time though she no longer felt any unexplained animosity as she did so. It turned out his full attention was more than she could handle. A strange role reversal, worrying about herself instead of him.

Ruth continued to dance the night away, alternating between Tristan, college guy, wingman, and several of Blake’s fellow bachelor partyers, who had joined Blake when he made his way down from the party on the second floor of the club upon spotting her.

“Come on.” Ruth literally tried to pull Blake onto the dance floor to no avail. “Loosen up that tie and let’s get this party started.”

Blake didn’t budge from where he was standing. With a slight shake of his head and a knowing look, he took a sip from the bottle of beer he was holding.

“Don’t worry, sexy lady, I got my boogie shoes on.” One of Blake’s friends, who’d been introduced as Randy, got between them. “Let’s show the man what he’s missing.”

Ruth blew Blake a little kiss and grabbed Randy’s hand. He lifted his arm, gave Ruth a twirl, and they went off to the dance floor.