Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

fake. It looks very real.” She was single. The ring was fake. I was in real trouble.

“Well, my brother gave it to me so it must be fake. He’s so overbearing. It’s annoying.”

“Billy? He seemed nice over the phone.”

“Ha! You don’t know him. He thinks jerky guys will see a ring on my finger and leave me alone. But only the nice guys really notice it. Like you.”

“I...errr...you think I’m a nice guy?” Because that was what I decided to focus on. Dork.

“I think so.” Her eyes widened. “You’re not a psycho killer or anything are you? I’m an idiot.”

“No! You’re not an idiot.”

“I’m naive.”

“I don’t know about that.” If she was, it was a good look on her. It was refreshing. “There’s nothing wrong with trusting people. It’s a good quality.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.” I ticked a brow. “And I’m not a psycho killer. I’ve had so many opportunities already, Clarice.”

She laughed. “Quid pro quo, doctor.”

Then a commercial came on and we listened quietly as though it was the most interesting snippet of entertainment in the world. It was a child’s voice inviting the surrounding counties to a living nativity at some church. He played the drummer boy apparently. That made Georgia smile. Then she turned her gaze back to me.

“So what about you?”

“Me?”

She giggled. “Yeah. Any girlfriend or...fiancée?

Ha. Hardly.

“Uh, no thank you.”

“No thank you? Why?”

“No reason. I’m just super busy, that’s all.”

She snorted. “I don’t buy it. Cute guy like you. There’s a story in there somewhere.”

“Perhaps.” I grinned. It was a goofy grin. The kind that made me grateful to have had braces. Otherwise it would have been a creepy grin.

Her ring was fake. I was still stuck on that. And she thought I was cute.

The commercials ended and the music resumed with Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Georgia bounced in her seat.

“This is such a bop.” She turned up the volume. Loud. “Come on.”

She opened her door.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Just come on. Let’s dance.” She leaped out of the car and danced her way to an open space of the garage. Reeses jumped out after her and hopped on his hind legs to join in, wagging his tail. He was a pretty awesome dog. He could do almost any trick. And he loved to dance.

Georgia rocked out, so carefree and sparkling. She was radiant—the way she smiled at Reeses, mirroring his movements. The way she sang along and flung her hair around. There was something magnetic about her, how the air crackled around her. And I was just shards of metal unable to resist the pull.

I threw off the blanket from my lap and sprang into action. Muscle memory took over as I wrapped my hand around Georgia’s small fingers, pulling her in to me. It was a simple Lindy Hop sequence. One, two, rock step, one, two, rock step. She fell right into rhythm with me. Her delicate hand landed on my shoulder, and I grazed my free hand around her waist.

Her eyes shimmered with surprise—delighted I knew how to swing dance. Most guys didn’t bother learning to dance at all. But my mom and dad were big in the swing-dancing scene, taking me and my sister along with them to competitions—and now it was ingrained in me. I twirled Georgia a few times, leading her out then bringing her back with a gentle tug. She followed well. A lot of ladies would try to lead or were too stiff. But Georgia seemed to respond to the light pressure of my hands, spinning out, rocking back, and then again into my arms. Her entire face was a smile—heck—her whole body was. I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun.

The saxophone wailed the upbeat musical interlude and we were really flying by now. That’s when I decided to go for an aerial. She seemed into it. I gave her the signal—an eyebrow wag along with a pronounced nod. Any swing dancer would recognize the nod. The eyebrow thing was just something I added myself. She raised her brows in response. She was ready.

I decided on the Cherry Drop Dip—one of my favorites. I did the pivot thing to start us off; the classic move to signal my partner into position. All she had to do was lock her arm and keep her core solid. My right leg swung around, guiding her behind me. She was right there, so responsive. So I went for it. I pumped my hip, lifting her off the floor. She was up with a little squeal. So cute. Adrenaline shot through me and maybe I got a little too enthusiastic. Or maybe she wasn’t expecting me to flip her around. I wasn’t really sure what happened in those three seconds when I bumped Georgia off my right hip and swung her around over my left leg. Her legs flailed up and bounced off my back. Her arms wiggled under my hold. And my leg wobbled—the leg supporting Georgia’s weight. She teetered, poised to fall, and although the floor wasn’t greasy in that area of the auto shop, it couldn’t have been all that clean. So I abandoned all form and grabbed her. I wasn’t about that flashy dance move at this point. My only thought was not to let her fall—again. At least this time we weren’t on icy ground.

I pulled her into me, straightening our bodies into an upright position. Disaster averted. And she was so close. Our noses almost touching. Her eyes, huge pools of maple syrup shined at me, blinking. I could make out every lash—long, feathery fringe brushing against her brows as she gazed at me.

What was that expression? Surprise? Whimsy? Desire?

I zeroed in on her lips. They were parted ever so slightly. And dang! This girl had kissable lips. I could get lost in the softness of them. I could nuzzle right in there and wrap myself up for a long winter’s nap.

Not that there would be any napping involved.

Then she smiled softly and I