TAMING HOLLYWOOD'S BADDEST BO- Max Monroe Page 0,101
to say, I know a lot of line dances.
My new favorite pair of cowgirl boots tap across the dance floor, and I simply let go and dance.
Callie shouts, “Yasss, cowgirl!”
Olivia laughs.
And I all but force them to follow my line dance moves.
Eventually, all three of us are tapping our way through the song, and more of our team joins in. Bob. Lucy Larson. Mei Chen. Pretty much all of the wardrobe department.
Even Luca.
Black leather jacket, motorcycle boots, white T-shirt, and a pair of well-worn jeans, he is a Lana Del Rey song come to fucking life. My chest aches a bit, but I force myself to focus on the music. The dancing. The fun everyone around me is having.
I refuse to notice him or what he’s doing or who is next to him.
But when Bruce Springsteen starts crooning “I’m on Fire,” it becomes really fucking impossible to do.
Memories flood my brain.
Luca and me on that ridiculous hiking trip.
Me telling him this is the best song to line dance to and him not believing me.
Us laughing and kissing and just…
Jesus. Stop it.
I refuse to go down that path of Memory Lane. I refuse to think back on those moments and memories we shared.
I tap my boots across the dance floor, and when I turn on my heel, he’s right there, right in front of me.
He smiles at me. God, I hate how much I love that smile.
Goose bumps pebble my arms, and before I know it, he is dancing with me.
One strong arm wrapped around my back and the other pulling my waist closer to his.
This isn’t good.
But it feels good…
That smile of his turns soft and gooey as he stares down at me.
“Having fun?” he asks, a gentle whisper in my ear.
A little too much fun. With you, of all fucking people.
All I can do is nod.
“I guess you were right, huh?” he says, and I lift a brow up at him. “Bruce Springsteen,” he explains. “Apparently, you can line dance to his music.”
I offer a halfhearted smile, and he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer, skillfully dancing us around the floor.
I hate that being this close to him feels like safety. It feels like coming home.
“Are you still mad at me?” he whispers into my ear. “Do you still not like me, princess?”
“Yes.” The word pops out of my throat before I can think twice about it.
I am still mad at him. I hate the way he hurt me in Alaska. But mostly, I hate that over the past several weeks, I’ve been finding it so hard to keep hating all of those things. I hate that my heart wants me to forgive him.
And I really hate that my stupid heart still wants him.
God, do I fucking hate that.
“That’s a shame,” he whispers down at me, and I tilt my head to the side, curiosity getting the best of me.
“And why is that?”
“Because I don’t want you to be mad at me,” he says, and his lips move closer to my ear. “And I want you to like me like I like you. Because I do, princess. I like you. A lot. So much so that I’m certain it’s a whole lot more than like…”
I lean back and search his eyes.
For what, I don’t know. But his eyes are so tender and genuine, and it urges my body to turn soft and relax more into his dancing embrace.
The song switches over to something less country and more pop. A vibrating boom, boom, boom turns into a seductive beat, and Selena Gomez starts to sing about being in a crowded room.
Fuck. This song. If I weren’t so lost in Luca’s words and smiles and eyes, I’d think deeper into how perfect this would be if this moment right here, if Luca and me in this dive bar dancing together, was actually a scene from a movie.
Luca is so close that I can smell the familiar scent of his soft cologne and body wash.
I can see the small little scar above his right eye.
And I can feel the warmth of his body. It is engulfing me, cradling me, wrapping me up, and making me want to be closer, closer…closer.
His gaze never leaves mine.
It flits from my eyes to my mouth and back to my eyes, and I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. Every cell inside my body is insisting for me to stand on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his.