You don’t like romantic shit,” Luke remarks and frowns at me.“I don’t like watching you lay the romantic shit on my best friend, pal. It’s disgusting. This,” I gesture around the room with my hands, “is not a movie. But I do like watching Zac Efron, Channing Tatum, and a number of other hot actors lay on the romantic shit in a movie. I have a vagina.”“I’m aware,” Luke remarks earning a glare from Nate. “Although, not first-hand,” he quickly adds.
May I see your dance card?”“Don’t you believe me?” She presented it to him with a flourish.He ran his fingers down the list of names.“Hmm . . . Waterburn? Bastard. D’Andre. Definitely a worthless bastard. Lord Camber, a thoroughgoing bastard. Lord Michaelson? Bastard. Peter Cheswick? Bast—”She snatched it from him, laughing.“I wouldn’t dance a waltz with you, anyway, Lord Dryden.”“No?”“You might accidentally lock eyes with Lisbeth Redmond, stumble, and fling me across the room to avoid crushing my feet.