Chapter 39 One dance
I lift my chin, trying to look unaffected, like I didn’t just blurt that out from some bruised corner of myself I’d been pretending didn’t exist.
He stares at me for a long moment, jaw tight, eyes searching my face like he’s trying to read a language he once knew fluently and has now forgotten.
“I drag you onto a dance floor and that makes me selfish?” he asks slowly.
“Not just that,” I mutter, folding my arms. “You always do this. You decide something and everyone else just has to fall in line.”
“That is not fair.”
“Oh really?” I arch a brow. “Because from where I’m standing barefoot on a questionable floor, it feels very fair.”
He glances down at my feet then back up again, something like guilt flickering across his face before he masks it with annoyance.
“You’re the one who took your shoes off,” he says.
“Because they were killing me.”
“You could have told me.”
“I did. You just heard dance and nothing else.”
His mouth opens then shuts again. For a second he looks like he actually might apologise, and that thought alone throws me off balance more than anything he’s said tonight.
Instead he exhales and runs a hand through his hair. “You make it sound like I dragged you here against your will.”
“You kind of did,” I say. “Emotionally. Which is worse.”
He huffs out a short laugh despite himself. “Emotionally dragged. That’s a new accusation.”
“I’m very creative when annoyed.”
“I can see that.”
We stand there at the edge of the dance floor, music pulsing around us, people moving in a blur of bodies and lights. It’s loud enough that we have to lean closer just to hear each other, and the proximity is suddenly very noticeable.
Too noticeable.
“You could have just said no,” he adds, voice lower now.
“I did say no.”
“You sighed dramatically and then agreed. That’s not the same thing.”
“It is when you’re you,” I shoot back. “You never take the first no seriously.”
“That’s because your nos are rarely real.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“You say no when you mean maybe, and you say maybe when you mean yes, and then you get mad when I guess wrong.”
“That is not true.”
“It is absolutely true.”
I scoff, but there’s heat creeping up my neck because there’s an uncomfortable grain of truth in that and we both know it.
“Well maybe if you didn’t assume you knew what I meant all the time, you wouldn’t guess wrong.”
His gaze sharpens. “And maybe if you actually said what you felt instead of hiding behind sarcasm, I wouldn’t have to guess at all.”
The words land heavier than the music pounding through the speakers. For a second neither of us speaks.
I swallow, suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing, how his hand is still loosely holding mine like he forgot to let go during the argument.
“I do say what I feel,” I insist, but it comes out softer.
“No,” he says gently. “You say what is safest.”
That stings more than the selfish comment I threw at him, and I hate that he can still do that. Still see right through me like the years between us never happened.
I tug my hand slightly but he tightens his grip just enough to stop me from pulling away completely.
“You wanted to dance,” I say, forcing brightness into my tone. “So dance. Isn’t that what this whole dramatic abduction was about?”
His lips twitch. “You make it sound like a crime.”
“It was. I was happily seated with my drink and my intact feet.”
“You were talking to Dennis.”
“There it is,” I mutter.
He frowns. “There what is?”
“That thing you do. You pretend this is about dancing but really you just didn’t like me talking to him.”
“That is not what this is about.”
“Please,” I roll my eyes. “You practically materialised the second we started laughing.”
“We were not laughing that much.”
“We were.”
He pauses, clearly replaying it in his head, then scowls slightly. “He was telling a stupid story.”
“It was funny.”
“It was not.”
I can’t help it. I laugh, a real one this time, and he looks momentarily betrayed by the sound like I’ve sided with the enemy.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You so are.”
“I am not jealous of Dennis,” he says, incredulous.
“Then why did you interrupt us?”
“Because I wanted to dance with you.”
I open my mouth with another smart reply but it falters at the way he says it this time. Not defensive, not teasing. Just simple and direct.
My heart does that annoying stutter it’s been doing all night.
“You could have just asked normally,” I say quietly.
“I did ask.”
“You demanded.”
“I requested firmly.”
“That is the same thing.”
He smiles a little then, the edge of tension easing. “You still came with me.”
“Under protest.”
“But you came.”
I glance around at the crowded dance floor, at the flashing lights reflecting in his eyes, at the way he hasn’t let go of my hand once since we left the table.
“I always do,” I admit before I can stop myself.
His smile fades, replaced by something more serious, something that makes my chest feel too tight.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “You do.”
The music swells, bass vibrating up through the floor into my bare feet, and for a moment neither of us moves, stuck in that charged pause between past and present.
Then I roll my eyes dramatically to break it. “Well don’t just stand there looking intense. You kidnapped me for a dance, remember?”
He lets out a breath that almost sounds like relief. “Right. Dancing.”
“Yes, dancing. It’s that thing people do on a dance floor instead of arguing about emotional communication patterns.”
He chuckles. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet here you are.”
“And yet here I am,” he echoes, stepping closer and sliding his free hand to my waist. “Barefoot and all.”
I narrow my eyes. “If someone steps on my foot, I’m blaming you forever.”
“I already agreed to carry you,” he reminds me.
“Good. I hope you’ve been working out.”
“I always work out.”
“Of course you do,” I mutter. “Mr dramatic entrance, crowd parts for him, lights probably dim on command too.”
He grins. “You noticed that?”
“Hard not to. People practically bowed as you walked down the stairs.”
“They did not bow.”
“They emotionally bowed.”
He laughs, the sound warm against my ear as he leans closer so I can hear him over the music. “You and your emotional interpretations.”
“Someone has to interpret your nonsense.”
“And someone has to drag you onto dance floors so you actually live a little.”
I meet his gaze then, breath catching for just a second. “I am living.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “I just… wanted to be part of it tonight.”
The admission steals whatever snarky reply I was about to give. So instead I just sigh, shake my head, and let the music pull us both in.
“Fine,” I say. “One dance.”
He smiles like he’s won something important. “One dance.”