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I looked at Trent, smiled, and shook my head. “I don’t really dance. At least, not in public.”

His deep chuckle vibrated around me. “Me either. I look like an octopus. On ice.”

I burst into laughter, slapping my hand over my mouth. “Oh my god. That image.” I shook my head.

“Sorry, but I have no coordination,” he said. “I can shoot straight and pack an eighty-pound ruck, but damn if I can get my feet to dance. Or my body.”

“I know what you mean. I feel like a walrus when I’m out there.” I laughed.

“No way. You would look hot. Is there any way I can convince you to get out there and shake your thang?” He waggled his brows.

I shook my head. “Definitely not. That is never going to happen. Not when I’m sober at least.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a challenge.”

My eyes widened. “No. I’m not getting wasted enough to dance like I’m alone in my apartment.”

He had a sparkle in his eye, a look of pure mischief. We talked and drank and talked some more. He showed no interest in anyone else. He m
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