Page 50 of Dad Next Door

“Sorry. Just had a zone-out moment.” He tore his eyes from the dancing couples and looked at his hands. “I’m almost forty, and I’ve never danced with a man.”

“Never?”

He shook his head, still looking down. “I’ve danced with women, but I never got a chance to dance with a man. I wasn’t out in high school, and I wasn’t a club or party person, so I didn’t get that experience in college either. Then I met Simon and never got the chance again.”

“Time to fix that.” I stood and bowed theatrically. Tris liked it when I was over the top, and I really wanted to see him smile right now. The sad, kicked-puppy look he got whenever he talked about all the things he either missed out on or had to give up because of his ex always twisted something deep inside me. “May I have this dance?”

Tristan laughed, his cheeks bright with a blush. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yup.” I deepened my bow so my forehead was almost level with my waistline. “Now, would you like to dance?”

“I’d love to dance with you.” He put his hand in mine.

Standing up straight, I pulled him onto the dance floor.

“Have you ever danced with a guy before?” he asked when we’d stopped.

“Sort of.” I circled my hands around his waist. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” He delicately cleared his throat and rested his hands on my shoulders.

“It wasn’t like this,” I said, catching the beat of the song. Tristan followed my lead and swayed along to the music. Using my hands to guide him, I moved us in a modified box step.

“What wasn’t like this?” he asked.

“Dancing with a guy. I was a theater and dance kid. I did a ton of partnered work with guys over the years, but that was acting.”

“Isn’t tonight acting?” he asked softly.

“No.” My voice came out hoarse. “Nothing about tonight, other than when we got cornered, has been acting.”

He swallowed, his throat working.

Why was that so hot?

The song faded out, and the softer notes of a ballad filled the air.

I slowed our dancing until we were barely moving.

The rest of the room faded away, and all I was aware of was Tristan and how good he felt in my arms.

“Quinn?” His voice was a breathy whisper I saw rather than heard.

My eyes fell to his lips.

The urge to kiss him was there, but it had nothing to do with making Asshole McDouchenozzle jealous and everything to do with wanting Tristan.

I stared at his mouth, my mind racing with disjointed thoughts. I’d spent most of my teen years and the early part of my adult life among actors and dance kids. I’d had plenty of guys flirt with me and more than a few offers to experiment, but I’d never been tempted to accept any of them.

Now I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to kiss Tristan. To give into the confusion and desire I couldn’t deny was there.

I must have been silent for too long because Tristan stepped out of my arms, his ears red with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he muttered and started to turn away.

I caught his arm. “Wait.”

He stopped but didn’t look at me.

“Tris.”