Lovestruck: A Romantic Comedy Standalone Read online

  So naturally, just as the servers start bringing the burgers around, my phone buzzes.

  I slip into the lobby. “What’s wrong, Kenneth?”

  “Ruby, I think I really screwed up.” My sixteen-year-old hip-hopper of growing social media fame looks awfully tough when he’s posturing for his audience, but right now his hangdog voice sounds all kid.

  Uh oh. I draw in a breath and sit down on the nearest bench, imagining all the sorts of trouble Kenneth Romano—stage name Kenneth the Krunk—might have gotten into. Mouthed off at someone who’s actually as tough as he wishes he was? Committed a petty crime for the LOLZ? Rap battle to the death?

  Okay, probably not that last one, at least.

  “What happened?” I say. “Tell me the whole thing.”

  “Well, I was out with a bunch of the guys at this place that has karaoke,” Kenneth says. “We were just goofing around. I saw that Harlan Everett song, ‘The One For Me’—you know it?”

  “Yeah.” Harlan Everett is the sappiest new country singer to ever sap, which is probably why his songs keep blowing up the charts. I’m not sure where this is heading now.

  “Well, I actually kind of … like his stuff. So I thought I’d sing that one just as a joke. But I ended up getting really into it. And then after, my friend Darryl started laughing about how he’d recorded the whole thing, saying he’s going to put it up on YouTube to show everyone I’m really just a wuss! You can’t let him do that, Ruby.”

  I press my palm to my forehead. This is the big emergency? But, to be fair, I can see why he’s concerned about his image.

  After a little more talk, I determine that Kenneth isn’t all that sure his “friend” Darryl really would try to mess up his career like that, but better safe than sorry. So I’m left spending the next several minutes hashing out the situation with Kenneth’s parents, followed by a couple dozen more trying to reach the family lawyer, who’s probably busy eating his dinner, or, failing that, someone, anyone, at his firm.

  I’m sitting there listening to hold music drone on and debating throwing in the towel—but I’ve already spent this much time on it, surely I’ll have it all sorted out sometime before the second coming?—when Will comes strolling over.

  “Hey,” he says. “I thought you might be getting hungry in here.”

  The plate he sets on the bench beside me holds a burger and a heap of home fries. My stomach gurgles.

  “You didn’t have to,” I say quickly. “I’m going to be done here any minute now. Everything’s under control.”

  Will’s eyebrows arch, but his tone is gentle. “Don’t put on the ‘I don’t need anyone but myself’ act with me, Ruby. I know you. You take care of your client, and let me do a little to take care of you. No guests are going to starve on my watch.”

  I can’t help watching him amble off. The second he’s out of view, I start inhaling fries. But my mind is still lingering over his comment.

  I know you.

  It might have been in retort to what I said before my striptease-in-reverse this afternoon. It feels like a callback to something further back, though—all the way back to our college days, and a conversation with him in the pub one night.

  “Everyone thinks I’m such a ball-buster,” I had burst out, and he chuckled.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It is, sometimes,” I said, poking my glass. “I mean, it can be great being all captain-y in-charge, kicking ass and taking names. But it’s also kind of tiring. And one-note. Even you said I was like Captain Janeway. Sometimes I want to be more like, I don’t know, Counselor Troi. All soft and warm and taking care of people and their feelings. People like a Deanna Troi better than a Janeway.”

  I didn’t in a million years think anyone, least of all Will, would agree I’d make a good ship’s counselor, full of soothing vibes. But he just nudged his shoulder against mine.

  “So be Troi with me,” he said. “We can take care of each other all right, I think.”

  Did that conversation stick with him over all these years? I never figured it meant half as much to him as it did to me, thinking he could see me that way, even though it gave me a warm mushy feeling whenever he winked at me and called me “Troi” afterward. And that was before The Letter Incident.

  I look down at the hamburger. It was a sweet gesture, but why did he make it? Does he think it makes up for how he shredded my feelings? I have no idea what game we’re even playing anymore.

  Ten minutes later, one teenage hip-hopper can sleep easier, and I’ve managed to wolf down half of the burger as well as the rest of the fries. I stuff my phone in my purse and get up. What’s going to look worse at this point: walking back onto the patio where everyone’s probably just finishing up, or rejoining them at the ballroom Brooke told me we’re scheduled to head next, where I can stealthily merge back into the crowd?

  “How can it be that a lovely woman like you is having dinner over here by yourself?” asks a smooth voice with the fluid vowels of a Spanish accent.

  The man walking over from the other end of the lobby is such a sight to behold that I don’t mind the interruption at all. Thick black hair swept back from his chiseled face, deep brown eyes, and a leanly muscled body he carries with a leopard-like grace. Um, yes please, I’ll take some of that. He’s dressed up more than most of the guests I’ve seen—sleek black shoes, trimly pressed slacks and suit jacket over a collared linen shirt—but he doesn’t have the deferential air most of the staff give off. Intriguing.

  I’m suddenly very glad I decided to slip on this sundress when I got out of my hiking clothes. It doesn’t have quite the same caliber of magic as my teal halter, but it shows off my assets a lot better than a sweaty tee.

  “Unfortunately I’ve been all work and no play so far this evening,” I say.

  A glint lights in those soulful eyes. “That’s a shame. Perhaps we can change that.”

  I grin. I can’t go running off on Brooke’s plans, but I’ve got a little time. I was starting to forget how fun it could be to flirt with a guy who has no history of breaking your heart.

  “What did you have in mind?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

  The guy steps closer. And then, speak of the devil, my heartbreaker of yore comes striding up to us. I tense, and I think the new guy notices, because his gaze darts from me to Will in the second before Will reaches us.

  “Is there a problem here?” Will says, looking between the two of us. His tone is all solicitous host, but there’s restrained aggression in his stance.

  “No,” I say, managing to suppress the urge to roll my eyes at him. Why would he think there was? “I was just having a very pleasant conversation with …” I raise an eyebrow at my new “friend.”

  The guy smiles in that slightly crooked way I’ve always been a sucker for. “Vincente. It has indeed been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” He’s looking only at me.

  Will’s eyes narrow, just a tad, but enough for me to notice. Wait, is he … jealous?

  Well, who am I not to make the most of this unexpected gift? I touch Vincente’s forearm with a winning smile right back at him. “Yes, I think you were just about to give me some tips on how a girl might have some fun around here.”

  “You didn’t have your fill this afternoon?” Will says, with an edge under the teasing.

  “How can a woman this exquisite ever enjoy herself too much?” Vincente puts in.

  “I like the way you think,” I say. “Tell me more.”

  Will clears his throat. “I think Brooke and Trevor are expecting everyone over in the ballroom now.”

  Damn. Well, it was a blast while it lasted. I’m about to step away from Vincente when he makes an exclamation of approval and offers me his elbow.

  “You’re heading to the ballroom? It so happens I am too. Perhaps you could show me the way.”

  Will blinks, looking momentarily, marvelously at a loss now that his gambit has backfired. “Ruby,” he starts, but I don’t get
to find out where he’s going with that, because Miss Chic & Elegant glides up to his side at that moment.

  “Will,” she says in an equally elegant voice, “I’m sorry, but I need those approvals taken care of.”

  His mouth flattens. “It can’t wait, Helene?”

  “He just called again.”

  “All right.” He shoots me a look that seems to pointedly exclude Vincente. “I’ll see you at the ballroom.”

  A promise and a threat wrapped up together. Even with this handsome arm candy at my side, a little shiver runs through me that isn’t exactly unpleasant.

  “I think the recreation building is this way,” I say to Vincente, recalling the resort map I studied this morning. We amble out across the now-vacated patio, along a path through the vegetation set with polished slabs of limestone and dotted with solar lanterns only just gleaming on as evening deepens. His firm bicep flexes against my fingers as he moves. I focus on that sensation rather than the territorial gleam in Will’s gaze when he saw us together.

  “It’s a lovely night for dancing,” Vincente says.

  “Are you going to be joining us?” I say. Maybe he’s one of Trevor’s friends, late arriving. I’m not sure exactly what Brooke has planned. She was all hush-hush when I asked.

  “I believe I am,” he says. “I hope at least some of that time with you.”

  “Hmmm. I might need a little time to warm up. Dancing isn’t really my forte.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about that.” He gives me a look up and down that really does chase Will from my mind, for a few seconds at least.

  We climb the cedar steps to the recreation building, and I let go of Vincente’s arm, a little regretfully. I don’t want to give the impression I’m some sort of clinger. Brooke claps her hands together as we step through the main doors. It takes me a second to realize it’s my companion she’s focused on, not me.

  “All right!” she says. “We’ve got a special treat for you all, so you’ll be able to tear up the dance floor in style during the reception. Get ready for tango class! This is Vincente Flores, the man who’ll be showing you how it’s done.”

  Chapter Nine

  I wasn’t kidding when I told Vincente I’m not much of a dancer. For the first several minutes of learning the basic tango step, all my attention is on the progression of walk, sidestep, cross, pivot, and close, and I feel pretty victorious in the fact that I manage to stay on my feet, even if they do get tangled once or twice in the beginning. “Switch, switch!” Vincente says every few minutes, keeping us on our toes both metaphorically and literally by changing up our partners.

  I start out with Colin the cyclist, who’s a bit stiff but doesn’t stumble any more than I do. We part ways with a laugh, and I find myself faced with Trevor. “I’m going to apologize in advance,” he says. It turns out to be for good reason—he nearly steps on my toes five times before our instructor calls another “Switch!”

  “Get over here, cousin-in-law,” Maggie says to him. “Apparently I naturally lead—maybe I can keep you in line.

  By the time I’m clasping hands with Brad, I’ve warmed up enough that I don’t have to keep rehearsing every move in my head. Which is a good thing, because Brad must have been worshiping his temple of a body with a great deal of cerveza tonight. He hardly has the steps down, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to throw in a dip here and a spin there, with a guffaw and a slide of his fingers a little closer to my ass than I’d prefer.

  “Behave,” I tell him with a stern look, and he gives me a goofy grin it’s hard not to forgive.

  “ ‘The tango is a game of seduction,’ ” he says with exaggerated dramatics, repeating Vincente’s line from the start of the class, but he’s more careful with his hands after that.

  On the next “Switch!” I turn and nearly collide with Will stepping toward me.

  “Shall we?” he says with an inscrutable expression. My hand automatically rises to meet his. He tugs me a little closer with his palm pressed to the center of my back, and suddenly there’s only a few inches between us. He smells like sun-warmed skin and that woodsy cologne.

  My breath catches. I haven’t been this close to him in five years—and back then it was the occasional brief platonic hug. Not locked together in what’s meant to be dance’s most passionate embrace. His gray-green eyes hold mine with a clear challenge in them. My spine straightens. I’ll take that challenge. If this is a game of seduction, then I plan on winning here too.

  It does feel like a game, like an argument between lovers, in a way I hadn’t noticed with my previous partners. I move toward him and then back up, pivoting with him, always in step, never completely giving way. I nearly stumble when I cross my ankles, and Will’s embrace steadies me—while pulling me another inch closer. I swivel, determined to keep up. Hoping he can’t feel how fast my heart is beating.

  He doesn’t stumble even once, even slightly. I eye him suspiciously. “Have you done this before?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says. He hasn’t looked away from me once. “I’m a man of many talents.”

  “Mmhm?” I say. Where’s the air conditioning? It’s getting a little too hot in here.

  It’s hard to say whether I’m more relieved or disappointed when Vincente cuts in. “You’re doing well, Ruby,” he says. “Perhaps I can offer some … additional instruction.”

  “I’m up for that,” I say. At very least it’s easier to breathe now.

  Dancing with Vincente is its own sort of thrill, just a less intense one. “It’s important to lean close,” he says as he puts his arm around me. “And to gaze into your partner’s eyes. This is a dance of intimacy.”

  “I thought it was a game,” I say.

  “That too. A game is more fun when it’s played by two people enjoying getting to know one another.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?” Sidestep, cross ankles, pivot. Vincente’s movements flow as if the dance comes more naturally to him than walking.

  “Certainly,” he says with a flash of teeth. “As the man it is my job to listen. You shift your weight first, and I know you are ready for me to pursue you. Even as I lead, I must show I understand what you need.”

  “I guess you say that to all the ladies.” I bat my eyelashes at him.

  He chuckles. “Only the prettiest ones, mi reina.”

  My gaze slips away from his face for a second—and snags on Will’s. He’s dancing with Lulu now, but he’s obviously forgotten the eye contact portion of the dance, because he’s staring over her shoulder at me as they go through the motions. Or maybe he’s glowering at Vincente?

  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but it lights a little fire in me. I lean a touch closer to Vincente, feeling Will’s eyes on us, and say, “So when do we get to the part with roses in our teeth?”

  “You’re an ambitious one,” he says with a wink. “That isn’t actually a part of any real tango. But there are many more enjoyable uses we might put our lips too.”

  “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” I say, mock-coy, and for a second I think he might close the distance between us with a demonstration. Maybe it looks that way from the outside, too, because before he can, Will is looming over us. He taps Vincente on the shoulder.

  “I think it’s time for another switch,” he says.

  Vincente gives him a measured look. The knowing glint in his eyes is more amused than anything else. “All right,” he says in a louder voice. “Find the partner you were most comfortable with and continue practicing with them. I’ll come around and offer suggestions.”

  Will has already grasped my hand. I can’t say I was especially comfortable dancing with him, but right now I’m not thinking comfort is really the point. Not when the intentness of his gaze is sending sparks over my skin.

  I can’t help myself. I raise my hand to set it in position on his shoulder … and trail my fingertips down the side of his neck on the way there. The heat in Will’s expression
jumps from smoldering to scorching. I’m playing with fire again, all right, but damn, it feels good.

  We fall into the dance, forwards and sideways and back again in time with the sweeping music. With each rotation, we inch closer together. Will’s thumb traces an arc on my back. His leg brushes the inside of my thigh during the closest step, setting off a blaze over my skin.

  Someone call the hotel medical staff. I’m on the verge of a heart attack.

  I let my hip graze his when we step beside each other. Cross, pivot. The skirt of my sundress flutters against my legs like a caress. Will leans in, our foreheads almost touching.

  “Ruby,” he says. His voice is scorching too. At the sound of it, I swear my nipples perk up inside my bra. I’m going to need a cold shower or three when this is over, but it is so worth it.

  “Will,” I reply. “Having a good time?”

  “I’ll say.” He adjusts our hands so our fingers intertwine. My heart thumps even faster. I can feel his breath hot on my cheek when he opens his mouth to say something else.

  The music clicks off. “And that concludes our class!” Vincente calls out. “Thank you everyone for giving it your best. I expect the dance floor at this wedding will be spectacular.”

  I detach from Will, tensing my legs so they don’t betray how wobbly I feel right now. Everyone claps, Brad lets out a whoop, and Vincente gives a little bow.

  “Hey, Will,” Trevor says from behind us. An escape hatch! I take the moment of Will’s distraction to skedaddle for the door. The warmth of his body is still traveling through mine. I’d better get out of here before it short-circuits the sensible parts of my brain completely, small as they appear to be when Will’s around.