Masterson

ELIZABETH

THE MADISON ROOM IN THE Albright Bar & Steakhouse has a very small makeshift dance floor, which is kind of weird, because it's such an upscale place. One would think that they could do better. In fact the dance area looks like it consists of only about fifteen linoleum tiles, definitely not up to the standards of the rest of the restaurant, but it's clear that my family is going to do their damnedest to make it a party. I must admit, I kind of like them for that. Everyone in here is practically rich, but they're still a lot of fun. Not stiff like most of the people I know back home, who are barely making their mortgages but act a hell of a lot snootier.

Juliette must have weaved some of her party magic and convinced the restaurant to pipe in one of her special iPod playlists through the room's speaker system. I'm pretty sure it's the same playlist she was exercising to earlier. It's full of old radio hits. Most I recognize thanks to my mom, but a few I don't.

I'm laughing heartily at a thin woman with a silver gray bob and a tasteful blue floral dress on named Aunt Joan who is telling me a funny story about each person that gets up to dance. Aunt Joan must be tipsy, because she is sipping on something called an Old Fashion and telling the same stories twice, but they're funny nonetheless.

Then I feel the prickle again.

I rub the back of my neck gently with my fingertips.

It can't be. It can't frackin' be.

"Hello again, Duchess."

I raise my head and meet a set of coal black eyes that are pinning me to my seat.

"Hi," is all I manage to squeak out.

He continues to stand there, gazing at my mouth, while Aunt Joan looks between the two of us like she's watching a tennis match. Heat is emanating off the back of my neck, and I'm breaking into a slight sweat. You'd have to be an idiot not to notice how he is affecting me, and Aunt Joan seems like she's far from being anyone's idiot.

Did he follow me or did he actually come looking for me? I know that I should be frightened by his stalkerish tendencies, but instead I'm gushing wet because of it.

"Let's dance," he says in a thick voice.

It's not a question or a request but more like this is what we're going to do now. I can't refuse. My body won't allow it.

"All right."

There's a weird mid-tempo song playing which makes me wonder how we're going to dance with each other. It's not slow enough for a slow dance, and it's not fast enough to dance apart normally. The decision is taken out of my hands when he gently pulls me into his arms and starts to gently rock back and forth to the beat of the song.

One of his massive legs slides in between my two quivering ones, and his moves are smooth and strong enough that he rocks my body along with his which only encourages other much more x-rated thoughts to pop into my head. Especially when I feel something rock solid poking me in my abdomen.

"What are you thinking about right this second?" he lowers his head to whisper in my ear.

Your intoxicating smell.

How hard you are.

"Popcorn," I blurt out. Really, Elizabeth?

"Popcorn?"

"It's my favorite snack."

I'm a bumbling embarrassment to every woman on the planet right now.

"You're hungry right now?" he asks incredulously.

I giggle, "A little."

"No one fed you in here?" He chuckles when he asks me that.