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in.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I didn’t know this place had a dress code and I don’t have the proper shoes, according to the bouncer.” His voice was laced with irritation.
    Shit. He drove all this way to see me and now he couldn’t get in?
    “Crap … Let me talk to my roommate. I'll let her know I’m leaving with you.”
    “No, don't do that. You're out with your friends. I'll meet you after. I'll have Cooper drive my car home and then you can give me a ride, sound good?”
    I smiled. “Yeah, that works.”
    After I’d used the bathroom, I reapplied my lip-gloss and headed back towards our area. Just as I reached our table, my heart sped and my mouth dried instantly.
    Weston.
    He had joined our group, and his broad shoulders filled his blazer as he sat next to Axel. I watched his mouth curl into a smile at something Axel said. His jaw line was firm even with his boyish smile, and his presence was compelling.
    Would he remember me?
    The deejay had switched the tempo of the music to a softer bass song so you could actually hear the person you were talking to. Axel was in a deep conversation with one of the guys, his eyebrows scrunched together, and he nodded his head every chance he could. Knowing Axel, it was probably a conversation about his passion for writing his own music. The majority of the time that was all he wanted to talk about. His adoration for music was astonishing. He didn’t care about the money or the fame; he cared about the music and his love of making it. He wanted to take the band away from cover songs and begin to write their own music. His devotion permeated from his soul.
    I took a deep breath, gathered oxygen in my lungs for courage, and walked over to drape my arm over Axel. He scooted over on the couch, which allowed me to sit in on the conversation. Weston didn’t acknowledge me, nor did I bat an eye at him.
    I hadn’t noticed the blonde girl sitting at our table until the music changed and she squealed.
    “Oh my God, Wes! Remember this song?”
    He must have a thing for blondes. The song that blazed from the speakers was a top forty selection that the deejay had turned into a club mix. It was cheesy and our radio station played it every twenty minutes. The first week the song landed its spot on the rotation, I’d loved it. Sang to it every time I heard it. But now that I knew his pretty blonde had a thing for it, I loathed it. Weston must have felt the same way I did towards the song because he didn’t respond to her statement.
    When the deejay scratched the CD and changed it to some Latin music, I began to dance in my seat. My mother had taught me at a very young age how to salsa. Though in Brazil we had samba and forro, I had picked up on the Latin dance and loved every beat. The heels of my sandals tapped against the granite floor.
    I was humming the first melody along with Willie Colon when a hand appeared in front of me.
    I looked up and was greeted by Weston. “Dance with me.”
    I gnawed on my lower lip as butterflies of excitement grew in my belly. I placed my hand in Weston’s and he led me to the dance floor, twirling me around as he brought me closer. His hand rested on the small of my back, his cheek pressed against the side of my head, and his masculine scent mixed with cinnamon coiled around me.
    His lips were mere centimeters from my ear as he whispered, “Hi.”
    I looked up at him and smiled. “Hi.”
    “You’re back.”
    “I am.”
    “Missed me?” His smile grew across his face.
    I felt my breath catch in my chest. We still hadn’t moved. The bodies around us twirled, twisted and pressed against each other, but we stood there with our eyes locked on one another.
    “No. Why did you miss me?” I asked and instantly didn’t want to know his answer. “Did you ask me to dance or to talk?”
    He brought me closer, our bodies flush against each other. He chuckled in my ear and my skin rose with goose bumps.
    “Show me what you got.”
    Consumed by the