Chapter 38 I want to dance with you
These goddamn shoes, I really should have broken them in first.
“But I want to dance,” he says, his tone insistent, almost like he’s not going to let it go. The real persistence surprises me, considering how I’ve already made it clear I’m busy.
“So go dance,” I say, shooting him a look over my shoulder. “I’m talking to Dennis right now.”
“But I don’t want to dance on my own,” he pouts, and I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s switching tactics, trying a new line of attack. I can almost feel the familiar old habits from my past Natte Johnson slipping through, the ones that used to drive me crazy and make me laugh at the same time.
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “Natte, there are plenty of willing victims for you to dance with,” I say, gesturing around at the crowd. The women near the bar aren’t even pretending not to be interested in him right now. I’ve seen the way they look at him, and I’ve seen the same look on their faces more than once. It’s not hard to spot.
“But I don’t want to dance with them,” he insists, his voice suddenly serious. “I want to dance with you.” He says it with such finality, setting his jaw and looking at me like it’s non-negotiable.
I get the feeling this is less about dancing and more about something else entirely—something to do with not wanting me talking to Dennis anymore. It’s funny. A few minutes ago, I could have sworn he didn’t give a damn what I did. Now, he won’t let it go.
Dennis chuckles from beside me, leaning back against the booth. “Just dance with him and get it over with, Shia,” he says, grinning. “He won’t let up until he gets his own way.”
I glance at Dennis, who takes a swig of his beer, and I can’t help but feel like there’s more passing between him and Natte right now. There’s a look that goes unnoticed if you’re not paying attention. Do they talk about me more than I realize? The thought crosses my mind, but before I can dig into it, Natte’s voice interrupts.
“Fine,” I sigh, giving in. “But if I can’t walk later because these heels have shredded my feet, then you’re carrying me back to my room.” I say it like it’s a matter of fact. After all, I’m already regretting wearing these shoes.
“Deal,” he grins, his smile too damn winning for my liking. It irks me more than it should. It’s the kind of smile that says he’s been waiting for that exact answer. He’s been preparing for this moment, and I hate that it makes me feel like I’m playing into something I’m not sure I want to.
Dennis shifts in the booth to let me out, and as soon as I stand, the pain in my feet hits me like a freight train. I feel the pressure of the shoes cutting into my toes, the straps digging into my skin. Yeah, I should have known better.
Natte grabs my hand and starts to lead me away, but walking feels like an Olympic sport in these shoes. Every step is agony, and I can’t help but wince.
“Actually, hang on,” I say, stopping in my tracks. I pull my shoes off in one swift motion, careful not to stumble, and toss them onto the seat next to Dennis. “Look after these for me.”
I turn back to face Natte, expecting him to make some smart remark, but instead, he looks at me like I’ve just pulled some wild, unexpected move. He’s staring at me like he’s never seen a woman take her shoes off in a club before.
The thought crosses my mind maybe this is the first time he’s seen a woman not desperate to keep her shoes on. Maybe the shoes are the only thing that have stayed on.
I can’t help but smirk at the thought as I walk past him, barefoot. My feet feel almost liberated. “You coming or what?”
“These floors are gross, you know,” he says, falling into step beside me. “Beer, gum, puke... you name it.”
“You want me to dance with you, this is how you’re getting me.”
“With puke-covered feet?”
I glance up at him, my grin widening. “Uh-huh.”
“Whatever way I can get you, Shia,” he murmurs.
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
There’s something about the way he says that, the undertone of it, that I can’t quite figure out. Did he mean for me to hear it, or was it just for himself? I pretend I didn’t hear it, though, letting the noise of the music drown out any more thoughts on it.
Natte takes hold of my hand again, and the warmth of his touch feels too close in this dim light. He veers us away from the VIP dance floor, leading us down the stairs and straight toward the main dance floor downstairs. I can’t help but feel that it’s a different kind of energy down here. It’s wild and free, the kind of place where no one is watching, where everyone’s just in the moment.
I look back over my shoulder, seeing Dave trailing behind us. He’s shaking his head, looking exasperated, like he’s seen this play out a thousand times. He probably has. Natte’s always been the rebellious type, the one who doesn’t care about safety or boundaries. I know it frustrates Dave, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.
And in this moment, I can almost see the kid Natte used to be the one who didn’t care about anything or anyone. It’s a fleeting thought, but it still stings.
I tread carefully down the stairs behind him, trying not to look too nervous about the lack of shoes. The last thing I need is to step on something sharp, or for someone to step on me. But as we move downwards, something strange happens. The crowd seems to part, and Natte doesn’t have to push his way through at all. People just move aside, almost instinctively, like they’re giving him space. I can’t help but be amazed at the way the room seems to respond to him. It’s both unsettling and a little bit impressive.
“You’re short without your heels on,” he says, turning back to me as he hits the bottom step, now at a more equal height.
“Yeah, and you’re a selfish prick.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
I didn’t mean for it to sound as harsh as it does. But it’s the truth. There’s a simmering frustration inside me that’s been building since London, since he sang to me in front of everyone and made me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel.
“What?” He looks genuinely taken aback, and a little pissed off.
I feel a wave of guilt, but I don’t apologize. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Forget it.”
But it’s not really nothing, is it? It’s everything. It’s the way he pulls me in, just to push me away again. And I don’t think I’m ready to figure out why.