Page 20 of Truth or More Truth (Throwback RomComs #3)

nineteen

. . .

B obby’s tuxedo jacket warms me instantly, and I grab the lapels to pull it more tightly around me, enveloping me not only in his body heat but also his delectable scent.

Diego and Bobby are having some sort of stare-down, and I look back and forth between the two of them.

“Any interest in saying out loud what you two seem to be saying with Jedi-like communication?” I ask.

Bobby’s hand lands on the small of my back. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he says tersely. “Let’s get back inside where it’s warm.”

He nudges me, and I move up the steps. Diego opens the door for us to walk through, and I glance back to catch him giving Bobby a smack on the back of the head. I raise my eyebrows at Diego, who graces me with a giant smile.

When we step back into the room, Leslie and Ash are at the cake table, ready to cut it.

Bobby steers me that way so we can watch them feed each other cake, and once it’s cut, he snags two plates and carries them back to the table for us.

When he pulls his jacket off my shoulders and drapes it over the back of his chair, I feel a sense of loss.

Nobody else is at the table, so I ask, “You sure you’ re all right?”

Bobby nods. “As long as I have something else to focus on for a while, I’ll get through it.”

“Well, in a few minutes, you’ll be able to focus on dancing.” I pause. “You are going to dance, aren’t you?”

“You think I don’t dance?” He pops a bite of cake into his mouth.

I grin at him. “You don’t really seem like a dancer.”

He says around his bite of cake, “I guess you don’t know everything about me, then.”

I laugh. “Apparently you’ve never been taught not to speak with food in your mouth.”

“Oh, I was taught.” He swallows and smirks at me. “I just chose not to listen.”

Emily’s head pops between ours. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

Bobby scoots his chair away from mine a few inches and turns sideways in his seat so he can partly face Emily as she places her plate of cake on the table between us.

“Dancing and cake and societal rules,” he answers.

“What’s sietal rules?” Emily asks.

“Polite stuff you have to do when you’re around other people,” he responds. He’s shockingly good at speaking with a young child.

Emily nods and forks a bite of cake into her mouth before replying, “Like not picking your nose or tooting in front of other people.”

Bobby barks out a laugh before he can stop it, and I giggle.

“Yes.” Bobby ruffles her hair. “Like that.” He shoots a smile my way. “As well as not talking with your mouth full of food.”

Emily covers her mouth with her hand. “Oops!”

“It’s okay, honey,” I say. Then I whisper loudly, “Mr. Bobby just did it, too.”

She giggles and then says, “Mr. Bobby, will you dance with me when the dancing part starts?”

He gives Emily the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen on his handsome face. “Of course I will, as long as your mom says it’s OK. I bet you’re a good dancer. ”

“I’m the best! But first you have to dance with Miss Melissa.” She gives us each a sly grin. “I bet she’s a good dancer, too.”

Bobby chuckles. “I think you’re probably right about that. With your mom’s approval, you’ll get my second dance of the night, okay?”

Emily nods. “Yep. And then I’m going to dance with Uncle Randall and then Mr. Ash and then Mr. Shannon.”

Bobby’s eyebrows go up. “You have a full dance card. I’m honored to be on it.”

Emily’s nose scrunches up. “I don’t have a dance card. Do I need a card? Where’s my card?”

“It’s just a saying now,” Bobby says. “Though a long time ago, women did have a card they carried around where they’d write down the names of the men who wanted to dance with them.”

How does he know that?

“Like as long ago as the people in Dirty Dancing?” Emily asks.

Bobby’s eyebrows now nearly meet his hairline. “You’ve seen Dirty Dancing?”

Emily’s face falls. “No. Mommy won’t let me watch it.” Then her face brightens. “But I love the music! We have the soundtrack.”

“I love the soundtrack, too,” I say. “What’s your favorite song on it?”

“‘Hey Baby’ is my favorite.” She claps in excitement. “What’s yours?”

“‘I’ve Had the Time of My Life,’” I say.

“I’m partial to ‘She’s Like the Wind,’” Bobby shares.

My jaw drops, but Emily nods seriously and says, “That’s a good one, too.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask Bobby.

“I told you you don’t know everything about me.”

When the dance finally begins, Ash and Leslie dance to “Endless Love” to kick things off, and there are few dry eyes in the room before the song ends. The song is so perfect for the two of them.

The music then fades into REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” and the DJ calls the rest of the wedding party onto the dance floor. I almost miss the wink Leslie gives me as Bobby leads me out into the open space.

Bobby pulls me against him, and my arms loop around his neck as his hands rest on my waist.

“Did Leslie wink at you?” he asks, lips twitching. I’m not sure if he’s trying to suppress a frown or a smile.

“I believe she did.” My heart begins to race, and I wonder if he can feel it. He has pulled me so tightly against him, he very well could. Not that I’m complaining about our close proximity.

He sweeps an escaped lock of hair behind my ear, and the imprint of his touch lingers on my skin.

“What’s that about?” he asks.

I search his eyes. Does he not know? Have his friends not been trying to push him toward me as well? Is he not aware of what this song is about?

I take a deep breath and decide to go for it. It may lead to a ridiculously awkward drive home tomorrow, but I feel like I’d regret not doing this more than I’d regret doing it and getting shot down.

“Listen to the lyrics,” is all I say as I look directly into his eyes.

Bobby leans his head around so his lips brush my ear, and a shiver runs all the way to my toes.

He whispers, “I know the lyrics.”

My eyes close, and we sway back and forth to the music a few more seconds before I reply, “You do?”

“Yes. They played this for us, didn’t they?”

Every time his lips touch my ear and his five o’clock shadow brushes against my jawline, my legs grow a little weaker as my heart speeds up past the limit of what can possibly be healthy.

“I-I think so.”

My eyes open in alarm when his face moves away from mine, but when I see the heated look in his eyes, I know I’m not alone in what I’m feeling.

“Are you done fighting the feeling?” he asks.

He grips my waist even more tightly than he already was, as if he senses I can’t support my own weight at the moment. It’s not surprising, since I’ve stopped swaying.

“Are you?” I reply, and I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

“The oars are gone, baby.”

Oh. My. Word. I’ve always rolled my eyes when I’ve read about women swooning, but suddenly I can relate.