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Kelsey shook her head. “You know how they get Henny wasted and give you that good, good dick?”
LaChelle and I nodded.
“I’m like that on champagne. He just tryna see how many glasses I have, make sure I don’t have his ass strung out all night. Bad as our kids are, he terrified of the word ‘pregnant,’ hell. One more and he knows I’m leaving him to deal with them hellions on his own,” she said before blowing her husband a kiss.
He frowned and ducked his head to avoid the imaginary kiss which just made LaChelle and me crack up even harder. The party was set up so that there was plenty of room for the artists to leave the stage and mingle with the audience, cabaret-style, which was why the dance floor was near the back, in front of the circular bar. The current singer switched to Blu Cantrell’s “Hit Em Up Style” as we stepped onto the floor. Laughing, we danced through Kelsey's extra-animated enactment of the lyrics and those of the next song. When the vocalist invited a friend onstage with her and the opening notes of “Nothing Even Matters” flowed from the speakers, I moved to leave the floor. I was surprised when my hand was pulled into a strong grasp. I looked over my shoulder and into a familiar pair of appreciative brown eyes.
“This has to be fate, beautiful. Can I get this dance and your name this time?” he asked.
I smiled at the man, the cutie from Rarity. I searched my brain… Nathan… Naeem… Lord, what was this man’s name? Turning, I glided closer to him, accepting his offer to dance. Hell, why not? He slid an arm around my waist.
“You can have both, if you’ll remind me of your name,” I said.
There was no use playing around. With all the patients I encountered, remembering every name I heard was not possible. I didn’t forget faces, though.
“Naaman,” he said, still smiling. “And you?”
“Evanie. Call me Ev.”
He nodded. “It’s nice to meet you again, Ev.”
“You, as well. But tell me something,” I began, tilting my head in my curiosity. “The birthday girl didn’t know who you were that night. How did you get an invitation?”
After what I’d been through, my suspicions were more heightened than they used to be. I waited for his answer as we slowly rocked to the male singer’s mellow cover of a D’Angelo verse.
“I’m my brother’s plus one. He’s worked with Liam and got an invite. His girl just left him, so he’s trying to get out as much as he can, not think about it. I tagged along. Glad I did.”
His smile widened, and I couldn’t help returning it. He really was a cutie in his slim-fitting Tom Ford suit and tasteful accessories.
“That’s a more logical explanation than fate, huh?” I teased.
He chuckled. “Let me have my wishful thinking, Beautiful.”
Shrugging, I waited to hear more about his thinking.
"Now that fate has reunited us, and I know your name, let me have my one last wish about you," he murmured against my ear.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the light touch of his fingertips on my back.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I was serious about changing your mind about dating."
I laughed softly as he settled me closer to him. Naaman was a good dancer, his movements smooth and rhythmic. He'd probably be good in bed. Yet despite his looks, charm, and grace, I wasn't interested in taking things any further.
"And I was serious about that not being possible," I parried.
He sighed. "You're too beautiful to put your heart on a shelf."
My lips curved. "Uh-uh, Naaman." I pressed my cheek against his chest. "Who says I have a heart?"
We danced in silence for a couple of minutes.
"I'm not going to change your mind, huh?"
His deep voice rumbled, and I felt his words against my cheek. Stepping back, I smiled at him, taking advantage of the break in the music.
"No, Suga. But you can have another dance to make u?—”