Chapter 7His blue eyes. His blond-brown hair. His light dusting of freckles. His smile. Oh, baby—his smile, with that perfect row of teeth. I could have just stayed there—down in a puddle of spilled, sticky vodka cooler—all night long, as long as I could just stare up at that.
It was going to get a lot better.
Dale reached out a free hand, which I had to resist kissing (Jesus—am I this far drunk already?). Instead, I took hold of it and let him guide me up. Slipping, in the process. His other hand swung out to grab me around the waist, and we both danced about the wet floor for a couple seconds before catching ourselves.
When the room stopped spinning, I found Dale’s face only inches from mine, and our arms around one another. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. It jus
