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IN A FEEBLE attempt to deal with a heart that I didn't break, my fingers instinctively wove themselves around his neck.
It was difficult to make out his face accurately under the dim lights but there were some remarkable parts of it that managed to shine through; like his smouldering hazel eyes, the sharpness of his jaw and his disheveled hair. There was always this distinctive sort of confidence that exuded out of Caleb that made him alluring in the effortless way that most heartbreakers were and I belatedly realised how dangerously enticing it truly was.
I actually met Caleb from the earliest point of my twenties through mutual friends and common workplaces, so it was unfathomable to think how long it took me to notice his attractiveness. Given, there was bad-blood brewing between the two of us and with such harsh friction present there was never a situation that called for me to ogle him in that way.
In hindsight, I was thankful that I never did only because, despite the many years that we'd been absorbed in our own acrimony, I gained a friend down the line. One that I'd long-since been unapologetically myself around and never felt forced to filter my words which seamlessly solidified that base of comfort that was already present with us.
I figured that's why I wasn't as disorientated as the last woman that worked up her courage and shared a dance with him moments ago, when he decidedly shifted closer and ginger pressed his hands down the slope of my hips and gently gripped my waist until we were mindlessly swaying to the smooth music.
"So, tell me," I said softly while trying to maintain the rhythm of our dance. "Where did you learn how to dance? I didn't peg you for a dancer."
"I'm a lot of things, but a dancer?" He queried, his lips quirking up in a smirk. "Not quite. Although, I did take a cotillion course at sixteen and absolutely killed the final dance."
"I'm sure you did."
"What, you don't believe me?"
"Oh, I believe you." I assured him. "I just think bringing a woman who absolutely can't dance to save her life as a date was a faux-pas on your part. You know, because I might embarrass you in front of all these people you're trying to impress."
He shot me a scandalized look. "Nobody's trying to impress anybody," he growled, lowly. "I couldn't give a shit what these people think."
I quirked a brow up. "But somebody's definitely trying to impress somebody else," I gave him a pointed look in the direction of a certain brunette. "What's the story behind that, anyway?"
"I thought I told you no questions asked?" He returned, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"I've never been good with people telling me what to do."
