One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,29

if I did. So, there you go. You get two confessions for the price of one.”

He leans across the table, sets a hand on my head. “Go in peace, my child.” Then his fingers travel a few inches down my hair, sending a traitorous sizzle across my scalp and along my neck. “Also, I’ll tell you all about it. Just come a little closer.” He pauses, tugs me toward him, licks his lips. Those lips. “My presentation is going to be . . . spectacular.”

He lets go, and I roll my eyes. “You ass.”

“You spy.”

“I admitted I spied!”

“I admitted I’m awesome.”

“Exasperating. You are still Lucas Exasperating Xavier.”

“And you are still as fiery as ever. And just as competitive. It’s insanely sexy, so watch out, Dumont. The more you try to spy on me, the more it might turn me on.”

A grin takes over my face.

A wicked, naughty grin.

“Now let’s see how competitive you are on the lanes,” he says.

We play a quick round, and when I beat him, I can’t help but wonder if that turns him on too.

He pays for the game and dinner, then grabs the bag of clothes and the guitars and nods to the door. “After you.”

“Let me carry something,” I say when we’re on the street.

“Nah, I’m playing a gentleman tonight.” Then he goes quiet for a few seconds. Maybe more. “Unless you don’t want me to be a gentleman?”

Sparks shoot up my spine, lighting me up, making me hot.

Is that what I want?

Or do I want this renewed friendship?

I want both. That’s the trouble. But how can I have both?

Especially when there’s something else I need more.

As I cast my eyes on the guitars, the reminder of tonight’s mission hits me square in the solar plexus. We have three more to-do-list items to complete, and less than forty-eight hours to do so. It’s already ten p.m.

“That is an excellent question,” I say, dodging the implications for now as I return to Harrison’s jump-through-hoops email. “But another important question is the debate Rowan and Luna had.” I recite from the email. “Remember that debate over who was better at leading and who was better at following? You had it the night you took a certain class. You’ll find your iPad there.”

“Ah, yes. The mission.” The words are tinged with disappointment, but it’s gone quickly, and then he’s upbeat again as he looks at his watch. “Let’s hope Harrison left it someplace that’s still open. We can knock out a third one tonight, and I suspect from that clue that they took a dance class.”

My smile brightens. “Yes! That’s what I was going to say too. Ballroom dance. Leading and following.”

“Because of course they’d argue over who was better at that,” he says as we cross the street, reaching my block.

“Such an important debate to have.” I cycle through my memory bank, trying to recall if Luna mentioned a dance class. “Salsa? Rhumba? Cha-cha? Fox-trot?” I laugh as I remember Peyton’s teasing texts from earlier. “Maybe it was the tango.”

Lucas is silent for a moment. “Actually, that may be it. Rowan always wanted to learn to tango.”

I snap my fingers, wheel toward him, and clasp a hand on his shoulder. “Yes! You’re right. I had tango on my mind because of something Peyton said. But Luna mentioned it before too. She said something about getting a red tango dress. They must have taken tango lessons. But who the hell knows where?”

He looks at my hand, his voice low and raspy when he says, “Exactly. There are a ton of dance studios in this city.”

I sigh, frustration coursing through me. “Let me try to get an answer from her.” I grab my phone and send a text to my sister, asking where she took tango. But I know she won’t answer. That stupid boat and its stupid lack of cell service.

I shove the phone back in my pocket. “You can take ballroom dancing anywhere. Hotels have classes. Broadway rehearsal studios have classes. Freaking nightclubs have classes.”

“I can try Rowan. I’ll send him a text when we get to your place, but I doubt he’ll reply. I haven’t heard a word from him all day, and I sent a few messages right after I read the original email this morning. No reply.”

I grit my teeth but push my annoyance aside. “We’ll figure it out,” I say, keeping positive. “We figured out Pin-Up Lanes and the cheese shop. We will figure out the tango place. And I’ll shoot Harrison