What am I doing? I shouldn’t be over here, flirting with Michael. We agreed to be friends and I’m behaving like this. Drinking or not, there’s no excuse.
“Um, I’m just going to mingle for a bit,” I mumble to Michael. I weave across the room to where Agnes is nestled on the sofa with Geoff perched beside her. “You two okay?”
Geoff grins over his drink. “How’s Sexy Michael?”
“What?” I glance at Agnes but she just sips her drink as if she hasn’t heard. “Geoff,” I mutter, giving him a subtle cut-it-out motion.
But not subtle enough, apparently, because Agnes says, “Don’t worry about me, dear. Your friend Geoffrey has already filled me in on everything.”
“Everything?” I repeat, my gaze darting back to Geoff. I told him about the kiss at Rockefeller, and the fact that Michael was prepared to wait until I found out what was happening with this job opportunity. I thought I’d told him all that in confidence, but trust Geoff to make a beeline for Agnes and spill his guts.
Geoff shrugs innocently. “I was just making conversation. Besides, you two looked pretty cozy over there.”
I glance back to where Michael is still leaning against the wall, watching us with interest. My heart does an involuntary flip and I turn back to the others, forcing a neutral expression. “We’re just chatting,” I say with as much disinterest as I can muster. “That’s all. Nothing is going on.”
Agnes frowns. “You could do a lot worse than Michael, you know.”
I let out a sigh, gazing down into my slushie. “I know. He’s… really great.” As I say this now, I realize I can’t think of a single thing I don’t like about him. It’s amazing how kind and genuine Michael is, given how attractive he is. Most guys with looks like his think they’re God’s gift and are absolute shitheads.
Come to think of it, that in itself feels like a bit of a red flag. What do they say, that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is? I remember my mother telling me that I’m always dreaming of Prince Charming and feel a ripple of unease.
No. I straighten up, pushing the thought from my head. It’s New Year’s Eve. I don’t want to think about the shit my parents have said to me, the career I’m trying so hard to build, the questions Agnes and Geoff are asking. I just want to party and have fun, maybe flirt a little—not worry about these tiny inconvenient details.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” I ask, giving Agnes and Geoff a sunny smile. And when they shake their heads, I turn and stride back towards Michael, determined to enjoy myself for the rest of the evening.
29
“That’s the most fun I’ve had in ages,” Michael says as we lean against the wall, catching our breath.
I suck back some slushie, pressing a cool hand to my warm cheek. Michael took Henry up to bed a while ago, then Agnes went up, offering to keep an eye on him until Michael was ready to go home. I was on the dance floor when Michael returned, and I managed to convince him to join me. I didn’t expect much out of him, but all it took was one song before he completely let loose.
“Thanks for making me dance.” He angles his body towards me, grinning. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me do these things I think I don’t want to do. And then I’m always glad I did.”
I smile, remembering his words on Christmas. I like the thought of him having fun because of me.
His gaze rests on me for a moment, then slides across the room. He watches the dance floor, sipping his piña colada, then asks casually, “What are your plans for midnight?”
I give a baffled laugh. “Um, I’ll count down, I guess. That’s the usual tradition, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is.” He chuckles self-consciously, raking a hand through his hair. “Any other traditions you might be interested in?”
I scan the room for clues, wondering what on earth he’s talking about. Then it hits me. Surely he can’t be referring to the midnight kiss? But when I dare to glance at him, I know that’s exactly what he means. He’s looking at me almost hopefully, and butterflies swarm in my stomach.
I pull in a breath, trying to regain control of my escalating pulse. I know I wanted to have fun tonight, but I didn’t mean that much fun. “Is that something friends do?”
The side of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend like you before. But I figure it’s New Year’s Eve and it’s a tradition to kiss at midnight. Maybe tonight”—he gives a little shrug—“the usual rules don’t apply.”
I raise my eyebrows, battling a smile, half wanting to laugh at his hopefulness and half wanting to tell him off for putting ideas in my head. My heart is thundering now at the prospect of kissing him again, even if it’s a terrible idea. I try to find some words but all I manage to do is gurgle out an incomprehensible, “Uhhrm.” I tear my gaze away as my body flushes with heat, and when I glance back at him he’s still gazing at me, his mouth tilted up in a suggestive smile.
Holy hell.
But… let’s be rational here. Is he right? Of course the usual rules don’t apply on New Year’s Eve. I could kiss him, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would just be one little kiss. One delicious little kiss.
But as I take in his playful expression and the way it makes my whole body tingle, I realize that while his logic is sound, I don’t have the kind of self control required for it. Because if I kissed
