Trouble - Tia Louise Page 0,3
holding the tray slides a lock of floppy blond hair behind his ear.
“Hey, Max. I didn’t know you were working tonight.” I shove a ham and cheese rollup in my mouth and take another off his tray.
Max is unfazed by me stuffing my face. “Yeah, need the cash mon-ay. I’m heading to Melbourne Beach next week.”
“Surf competition?” I stuff the second appetizer in my mouth and wrap one in a napkin. I wonder if I could put it in my hidden pocket or if it would leave a stain.
“First of the Prime East competitions.”
“Cool,” I nod, and the heat of a body warms my back.
“Have you made a friend?” Spencer sounds annoyed, and I decide to forego the third appetizer.
“Mm.” I swallow quickly motioning between the two. “Max, this is Spencer. Spencer, Max. We used to work together.” I give Max’s arm a squeeze. “Good luck.”
Spencer’s brow is arched as we stroll towards the dance floor. “Where did you work together?”
“I was a cater-waiter in college. I actually hired these guys for the reception.”
“You’re a Jill of all trades.”
“Master of none,” I mutter, as he takes my hand.
“Let’s dance.”
“You’re not here with anyone?”
“I would never take a date to a wedding.” He acts as if it’s so obvious.
“And why not?” My tone is defiant, and he pauses, studying me with a grin, like I’m one of those rare finds he and Daisy like to talk about. It tingles low in my stomach.
“I have my reasons.”
I allow him to lead me onto the dance floor. A slow Olivia Newton-John song I don’t recognize is playing, and the crowd has cleared after a boisterous round of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”
Spencer slides his hand to the middle of my waist, and our hands clasp. I lean closer, placing my eye at the level of his lips. He must be six-two, and I kind of love that he’s taller than me. I’m five-eleven, which means I’ve always been the same height or taller than my dates. I haven’t worn heels in years.
I close my eyes, listening to the song lyrics as I inhale his luscious scent. Fuck you, Elliot drifts through my mind.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…” His mouth is at my temple.
“You secretly hate flowers?”
A chuckle rumbles from his throat. “You have the perfect body for that dress.”
My insides shimmer, and again, I’m at a loss. “You don’t think I need to lose a few pounds?” Elliot’s always commenting on portion size.
“Don’t you dare. You’re a perfect hourglass, a vintage beauty.” He steps back, and gives me an appreciative glance. “I’m sure that’s why Daisy picked it for you. She has a great eye.”
“Right.” We sway side to side, and I’m quiet.
“I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“No. You didn’t.” I lean back, squinting an eye as I study his perfectly straight nose and wicked gaze. He’s more like a model or an actor than how I’ve always pictured an antiques dealer. “How does a man like you get interested in antiques?”
“A man like me?”
“Yeah. You’re not an old professor in a moth-eaten coat with crumbs in your beard.”
“Thank God.” He exhales a scoff.
“So what’s your story?”
“I was born into it. My father had the largest, best-curated collection of priceless antiques in Newport. Drake Carrollton was the best in the business. A legend.”
“Are you a legend?”
“I’m an asshole.”
His frankness makes me laugh. “I’ve heard that about you. Daisy says you’re Mr. Freeze.”
“I don’t waste time on sentimentality. We deal with junk found in attics or sorted after the death of a relative. Your cousin gets too emotionally involved. It’s a waste of energy.”
“Right.” I move my nose to his shoulder again so he doesn’t see me grinning at his arrogance. “She told me.”
The song ends, and he gives me a little squeeze before releasing me. I miss the warmth of his body, but he slips my hand into the crook of his arm and leads me to the balcony.
Guests shriek and funnel past us as the DJ launches into another banger. Their laughter and the noise of the music fade to a low roar as we step outside.
It’s a warm, breezy night, and the scent of brine and salt air surrounds us.
The lights of the beach houses and mansions lining the shore reflect off the water, and I remember how much I miss this when I’m in Columbia. Maybe Daisy’s right, and I need to ditch the idiot and move home.
“How does a pinup like you get involved in