Eliza and Ben finally finished dancing, and he returned to my side.
She clapped twice and started another song for the rest of us to dance.
Oh, dear.
The way we moved together, in harmony, was doing something to me.
Call me crazy, but I felt sexy in Ben’s arms, like we were meant to dance this dance.
Slow-quick-quick. Slow-quick-quick.
I felt alive.
I felt heat on my cheeks.
I felt something under my foot.
“Ouch!” Ben said, wincing.
“Sorry!”
I normally wasn’t such a horrible dancer, but he did that to me.
He distracted me.
Just keep your eye on the ball. You’ll be fine.
If only it were that easy.
My thoughts were scrambled, kind of like the dance moves.
Slow-quick-quick. Slow-quick-quick.
Now, I knew why they called it the dance of love.
It was slow, deliberate, and we were much closer than we were when we danced salsa and the cha cha. Ben held me and moved me with confidence, like I was his, like he wanted me.
It is for couples who want to add some serious fire to their love lives!
She was right.
I was burning up.
Slow-quick-quick. Slow-quick-quick.
Someone needed to remind me why I only wanted to be friends with this man, because I didn’t have a clue.
He leaned in and dipped me. “You’re driving me crazy, lovely Lori. You’re wearing that perfume again.”
I nodded. “Yes.” I could barely get the words out.
“I told you the effect it had on me. Why would you continue to wear it if you only wanted to be friends?”
That was a good question.
I didn’t have an answer at the moment.
“There are only two possible reasons,” Ben continued. “One, you want to torture me. Or two, you want to be more than friends, but are scared or just don’t want to admit it.”
I scoffed. “You think you know everything.”
“Maybe not everything, but I’m pretty darn sure you want to kiss me again, almost as bad as I want to kiss you.” He glanced at my lips.
I looked away and swallowed hard, because he was right.
“Eye contact.” He grinned.
I returned my gaze to his, thinking about what he had said earlier.
I knew full well the effect my perfume would have on him when I sprayed it on my inner wrists, the base of the throat, and behind my ear lobes.
Why would I do such a thing? I must have had about ten thousand songs in the database called my brain, but one particular title popped into my head to answer the question.
“I Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick.
And I certainly wasn’t going to deny it. I wanted Ben to want me, even though I wasn’t sure I would let him have me. Weird, I know, but there was nothing in the world like the feeling of being wanted.
The song ended and Ben winked at me.
There was a flutter in my belly and my limbs started to tingle.
Then Ben surprised me with a last-second dip.
His body hovered over mine.
Ben’s face and lips were just inches from mine and I couldn’t look away.
We were both out of breath, gazes locked, in our own worlds.
In a room of approximately thirty people, everyone else just seemed to disappear.
My willpower was fading faster than my favorite pair of jeans.
There was only one thing I could do at that point.
I reached up with my hand, pulled Ben closer, and kissed him.
Chapter Eighteen
BEN
I slid on my headphones and pressed the microphone button. “It’s another beautiful day in San Diego for the Dr. Tough Love show. We’re here for you, whatever your affliction, heartbreak, or anguish might be.”
“What happened to woes?” Lori asked. “People have woes or have you forgotten already?”
“I’ve expanded my vocabulary, thanks to you. Woes are dead to me.” I chuckled. “And please welcome my amazing cohost, the oh-so-lovely Lori Martin.”
“Thank you. Good to be here again.”
“I see you’ve got your favorite mocha there, so you must be amped and ready to go.”
Lori nodded. “I am.”
“Glad one of us has a mocha.”
Lori crossed her arms. “Do you expect me to bring you one every morning?”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Look at that.” She pointed to the phones. “We have plenty of callers lined up. Shall we go to the first call?”
I chuckled. “Nice change of subject, but yes, let’s go to the phones. They are blowing up this morning.” I pressed line one on the control board. “Kathleen in La Jolla Village, you’re on the air. What’s going on?”
“Hi, Dr. Tough Love. Hi, Lori.”
“Hi,” Lori said. “How can we help you this morning?”
“Well, I’m having a problem with my husband. He likes to use my towels in the bathroom and I hate it.”
“Which towels are you talking about?”
“All of them. My shower towel, my hand towel, and my face towel. It totally grosses me out when he uses them, because—you know, he’s a man.”
“Can you be more specific about the grossing-out part?”
“He’s a slob!”
I chuckled. “Okay, but back up a bit here. If he’s using your towels, that would typically mean that he just got done washing up. So, he should be using your towel to dry his clean hands or clean face. Am I wrong?”
The caller laughed hysterically. “You are so wrong you have no idea. You’re assuming he knows how to wash himself in the first place! He leaves disgusting things on my towels. There are stains and gross little blobs of unidentifiable objects that I really have no clue which orifice they came from. Just the thought makes me want to gag. They’re my towels and I don’t want him using any of them.”
“Have you always been protective of your towels?” Lori asked.
“No—not when we were dating, but once we got married I knew things had to change. I’m a much different person now. I’m not OCD, but I value cleanliness now more than ever. Basically, I’ve grown, and he’s just mutated.”
I grimaced and set my coffee down. “Disgusting.”
“Tell me about it!”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not talking about that. I just took a sip of my coffee and swallowed a little piece of something. Maybe it was some coffee grounds.”
Lori smirked. “Or maybe it was something from Kathleen’s towel.”
“You didn’t go there!” I shook my head in disgust. “Lori—did that really come out of your mouth?”
She laughed. “I’m not proud, but it must mean you’re rubbing off on me. Scary, right?”
“That is scary.” I winked at her. “Kathleen, are you still there?”
“Yup and still completely disgusted with my husband,” she said. “What should I do?”
“Let me ask you this—what does your husband say when you tell him you don’t like him using your towels?”
“He says it’s insulting and hurtful. He also says couples are supposed to share things.”