"I'll have you over to the apartment and show you sometime."

c.r.a.p, I felt myself glow with the thought. Here he was practically commanding me, acting as if I'd jump at the chance, and I didn't mind at all.

"Okay, best dish at the sorority house." I concentrated on slicing the onion before me and trying not to cry. It was a strong one.

Seth was watching me as, embarra.s.singly, my mascara began to run, and I fought to avoid touching my eyes.

"Breathe through your mouth, not your nose. You'll cry less." He was slicing his onion tear-free.

I mumbled something about mouth-breathers, but deep down, I was impressed. He knew a ton more about cooking than I did.

After slicing the vegetables, we moved on to "fabricating" a chicken, a fancy term for butchering a chicken. Taking a chicken apart seemed pretty much counterintuitive to me to the usual meaning of fabricating, which was to make something. Seth, again, had no problem. He knew how to cut and what pieces to make. I, however, had always been more of a baker than a cook. I winced when I had to snap the bones apart.

"Don't tell me you had to fabricate chickens at the sorority house, too."

Seth shook his head. "No. I left that to our cook. Dad taught me."

"Your dad is the cook in your family?"

His expression became blank, like he was trying to hide the pain of something. "It was just the two of us. It was either him or me."

Okay. He had no siblings and his mom was out of the picture for one reason or another.

I glanced at the clock just as Chef Steven ordered us to clean up. "That's all for today. Store your fabricated chickens in the freezer. We'll be making stock out of them next week."

As we washed our knives, the four of us at our station joked around and exchanged phone numbers. At Seth's suggestion. So we could get together and study if we needed to. For a cooking cla.s.s? If I had been vain, I would have thought Seth was looking for a way to get my number without singling me out. I wasn't vain. But I still hoped that was the case.

Seth walked out of cla.s.s with me. "Have plans for the weekend?" He sounded too casual, almost prying.

For an instant I got my hopes up that he was going to ask me out.

"I'm going country swing dancing with a group of friends at Bourbon Beach." I could have just said I was going dancing. But I added the location in case he wanted to find me. That was stupid.

"You like to dance?" He made a face like dancing wasn't his thing.

"You don't like to?"

He shrugged. "I'm not a big country music fan."

I didn't know why I felt so let down. It's just, I'd given him an opening and he hadn't taken it. Which was fine by me. Really.

"What are you up to?" I tried to sound casual, too, but I was curious about him now.

"The usual." He gave no clue what the usual was as he held the door open for me and we broke outside onto the sidewalk. "I'm headed this way." He pointed in the opposite direction I was headed.

"That way," I said.

He smiled. "Have a good weekend. See you in cla.s.s on Tuesday, Maddie." He headed off without a backward glance at me.

Leaving me disappointed in his wake. What was up with him? Was flirting just a sport with him? I'd hinted that I was going dancing and even told him where. And he walked off like he wasn't interested. After he'd looked for a way to put his arms around me in cla.s.s. I was sure he had. An enigma. A player. A player wrapped in an enigma.

Seth I had a change of plan. At the last second. I was about to ask Maddie out when it suddenly seemed smarter just to show up at Bourbon Beach and ask her to dance. Wow her with my swing skills. The girls at the house loved dancing. They dragged some combination of Zach, Dillon, Paul, and me along to Bourbon Beach at every opportunity. For protection. And to a.s.sure that they had enough dance partners. I'd managed to avoid country swing for about a year now. I was thinking it was time to lift my embargo on country music.

Bourbon Beach had a different theme every night. The girls liked country and East Coast swing best. I'd gotten pretty good at both. Thanks to the girls and their tutoring. They weren't going to be embarra.s.sed by a houseboy. And they claimed that dancing with someone who didn't know what he was doing was no fun. So the four of us became pretty decent dancers out of necessity.

The trick was convincing a couple of guys to go with me. You didn't show up at Bourbon Beach alone. Everyone traveled in packs. I probably could have convinced Zach and Alexis. But Zach was proving to be the worst wingman in the history of wingmen. I got lucky. Paul called and begged me to go with him and a group of the Double Deltsie girls. He didn't have to twist my arm too hard, though I made him work for it.

"Come on, man," Paul said. "You bail on me at semester. Leave me to train two newbies. The least you can do is help me escort half a dozen hot girls to the bar on a Friday night. Like that's tough duty. Why am I begging? They're not off limits for you anymore, dude. Man, I envy you!"

On the surface, it seemed like he was right. I was in the enviable position. But after spending several years in the house, most of the girls were like sisters to me now. The pledges, the new ones, seemed too young. Like baby sisters.

"Buy me a beer," I said, negotiating.

Paul swore beneath his breath. "Dude! One, or all, of the girls will. You know that. They have plenty of cash to throw around. They always treat us well."

"Yeah, but country swing?" I had an image to maintain. Country music wasn't part of it.

Paul swore some more. "Come on, man."

"All right. What time?"

"The action never starts until ten." The relief was evident in his voice. "Meet us at the house at nine thirty. Wear your cowboy hat, dude."

Chapter 4.

Maddie Country swing night was only on a Friday once a month. The other three weeks it was on Thursday night. I was a good little studying girl, which cut me out of it most Thursdays. Plus almost every semester since freshman year I'd had a Thursday night lab that conflicted.

I was excited about going dancing. Olivia and I dressed with care in tight boot-cut jeans, sparkly tank tops that bared our midriffs-dancing was hot business-and cowboy boots. Hair loose, long, and straight. Skipped the hat. It wouldn't last past the first dance. I was hoping some of the guys who knew how to dance would show up. There were a couple partners we all coveted.

By the time we arrived, the dance floor was crowded. I scanned the crowd for our faves. Cowboy Jake, as we called him, hadn't shown up.

"Robbie's not here, either," Olivia yelled to me over the music.

c.r.a.p, the two best dancers around hadn't shown up.

"Let's get something to drink." I headed past the dance floor to the bar.

There was a trick to being asked to dance. First, you had to make your presence known. Make eye contact with the likely candidates.

Olivia and I found a table. She was immediately asked to dance. I couldn't get the attention of a waitress to save my life. And I really needed a drink.

A commotion at the door caught my attention. A group of six or eight Double Deltsies arrived, accompanied by two guys. My heart fell into my stomach when I recognized Seth. So he hated country music, did he? Except when a group of hot blondes invited him out with them. So this was the something usual-hanging out with the girls from the house.

My face flamed. My stomach burned. I felt toyed with and in no mood. He was dressed in boot-cut jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt. The boots made him a couple inches taller. And he was plenty tall to begin with. He was even wearing a cowboy hat. He looked cowboy enough to me. And too hot for his own good. He wore cowboy well for someone who professed it wasn't his thing.

At that moment, I hated him for playing me. Flirting with me in cla.s.s and then blowing me off like I was nothing. Stuck-up Double Deltsie former houseboys, anyway. Zach had been right to warn me off him. Though I didn't know why I cared.

The girls were laughing. He led one of them to the dance floor. I watched them with morbid curiosity. I knew I shouldn't have been looking. I knew I could have been caught in the act. But I couldn't look away.

c.r.a.p. He was a good dancer. Correction. He was an outstanding dancer of the caliber of Robbie or Cowboy Jake. Why hadn't I noticed him before? How could he be that good without being a regular?

I watched as he and the girl did the pretzel like they'd been dance partners since birth. They antic.i.p.ated each other's moves. I felt myself turning a sickly shade of envy. Seth was smooth. When he dipped her, she laughed and smiled, obviously and totally trusting of him. When he lifted her in an aerial over his head and she struck a pose, the dancers around them cleared s.p.a.ce and watched in awe.

c.r.a.p, every good female dancer in the crowd was suddenly eyeing him. He wouldn't have to ask another girl to dance all night. They'd mob him.

When he pulled her down from overhead and swung her out, she threw her legs around his waist and rode him like a bucking bronco. I should have turned away. But, of course, I didn't. Because you can't look away from a train wreck.

As soon as the dance ended, one of the other girls he'd come with claimed him. She wasn't as good a dancer. But they were still fun to watch. I guess I liked tormenting myself.

Finally, I looked away. Olivia didn't return to the table. I saw her out on the floor. She looked like she was having fun.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a mirror over the bar. I was glaring, looking like an angry b.i.t.c.h. No wonder no guys had approached me. I looked like I was ready to bite their heads off.

Fine. I didn't need Seth Butler, anyway. I was acting like a petulant child who wants something she doesn't really want, just because. I took a deep breath and reset my face, making myself smile.

I still hadn't gotten a waitress to take my order, but a beer arrived as if ordered out of thin air. The c.o.c.ktail waitress set it in front of me and pointed to a big, ugly drunk guy at the bar. "Compliments of that gentleman."

She walked off before I could refuse it or send it back. And he walked over, uninvited. I really hate it when drunks invade your personal s.p.a.ce and get right in your face with their stale breath. I also hate being sent random drinks, as if I should be flattered some douche has sent me a cheap beer.

The douche took Olivia's empty stool next to me.

"Hey, beautiful." He slurred the words. He had two words to say and he couldn't get them right. The c.r.a.ppy night just got c.r.a.ppier. "You're the prettiest girl I've seen here in a long time."

And alone and separated from the herd, I thought. An easy mark. So he thought.

He was older, maybe thirty, and already working on an epic beer gut. Probably not a student, like most of the guys in the bar. Probably a local. But not university staff, from the looks of him.

"Wanna dance?" He burped.

Just kill me now. Yeah, I wanted to dance. With Robbie or Jake. Or Seth. Mostly Seth. Not with this burping drunk next to me. I would have been surprised if he could even stay on his feet.

The thing is, you have to trust your dance partner when you swing. 'Cause it's not one of the dances when you just move in the s.p.a.ce next to each other, no touching required. And there's danger involved.

Flips, dips, aerials, and spins were risky in the wrong hands. I once had a guy give me a concussion when he dropped me in the middle of a low spin. Since then, I'd been more cautious and discerning in my choice of dance partners. Because sure as anything, some guy who's never danced before in his life will ask you out on the floor, and before you know it, he's showing off for his buddies. Especially if a few beers have given him confidence. And you're literally banging your head against the floor.

I held back a tart reply and slid the beer in front of the guy, even though it was the last thing he needed. "No thanks. I believe this belongs to you."

He ignored it, scooted his chair closer to me, and fixed his gaze on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, talking to them like they might answer him. "Next song, then. I'm a good dancer. Real good. I know all the moves."

Ick. I wasn't doing any moves with him.

"No thanks." I got up. But not quickly enough.

He grabbed my wrist. "Where you going in such a hurry?"

I glanced around for a bouncer. Bourbon Beach was usually pretty good about having plenty around to break up trouble. Do you think I could find one when I needed one?

Just as I glared back at the douche holding my wrist, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. An arm slid around my waist from behind and pulled me against a hard chest. I caught a whiff of cologne I recognized.

"Thanks for keeping my girl company. I'll take it from here." Seth's tone was just the right blend of threat and letting the guy save face as he removed my wrist from the douche's grip.

"Come on, baby. Let's dance." He pulled me toward the dance floor.

I held my breath as we walked away, hoping the drunk didn't come after us and take a swing at Seth. A sucker punch to the kidneys from behind was not what we needed.

Seth seemed unconcerned. It wasn't until I saw the other guy who'd come with him step between us and the drunk that I understood why. The guy looked like he was itching for a fight and could take just about anyone.

"Don't worry about Paul," Seth said in my ear with amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice. "He can take care of himself. He'd like nothing better than for that s.h.i.thead to come after me or him."

The drunk wasn't stupid. He left us alone.

I leaned into Seth, cupping my hand to speak directly into his ear over the blasting music. "That was smooth. You're good at this 'rescuing a damsel in distress' business."

When he grinned down at me, all my irritation at him vanished and I felt a little weak in the knees.

"Paul and I have had a lot of practice. Why do you think the girls keep us around?" He nodded toward a couple of Double Deltsies who were headed out onto the floor with a pair of obvious frat guys.

"So this is your usual-protecting girls at bars from drunk douchebags? Is that some kind of weird superpower?" I looked him directly in the eye. That usually pierced the truth out of people.

His grin deepened. "No. That's Paul's duty tonight. He and the girls begged me to come along. The girls still think I work for them and expect me to play personal bouncer, like before. Force of habit." He shrugged. "What could I do? They're like sisters to me. I couldn't let them down."

We reached the edge of the dance floor. He hesitated. "I was serious about asking you to dance-do you want to?"

"I thought you didn't like country music?"

"I don't."

His frank admission made me respect him more. "I a.s.sumed you didn't swing dance, either?"

He raised one eyebrow. "You've made a lot of faulty a.s.sumptions about me."

"You like dancing?" I was confused now. He was the most confusing, amazing guy I'd ever met.

"With the right partner."

My heart fluttered like I was sure it was supposed to. "Me too." I paused a beat. Two could play the flirtation game. "With the right partner."

He led me to the center of the floor. When he took my hands in his as the music started, I felt another unexpected zing of attraction.

"I'm better at East Coast swing." His eyes sparkled in the lights on the dance floor.