back to face the dance floor. I watch her tilt the bottle back again, swallowing. Her eyes are smoky, and some of her hair has started to fall away from the twist, grazing the back of her neck.
“To be honest with you, I’ve never really been much of a boob man,” I say, my eyes still mesmerized by her perfect profile. She laughs, and I love the way it makes her move.
“Bullshit,” she says.
I don’t answer, and eventually she turns to look at me, squinting.
I cross my heart, and she purses her lips, leaning her head in doubt.
“Swear to god,” I say. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like them,” I say through a guilty smile, chuckling. She nods like she’s caught me in a lie, then glances back out on the dance floor. I watch her for a few more quiet seconds, and then I do something completely stupid.
“Your hair does this thing when you wear it like that. It sort of tickles the curve of your neck, right…here,” I say, reaching up and drawing my finger lightly along the few inches of skin from her jaw down to the strap of her dress. My eyes move to hers, and I catch her looking at my finger against her skin a second before her eyes flit to mine. I breathe in slowly and pull my hand away, pushing both palms in my pockets again. “Anyway…just…I notice other things. That’s all.”
I can feel Maddy staring at me long after I turn my attention back to the people on the dance floor. When the band finishes a song, I hear her take a deep breath, like she’s about to speak, but we both startle when Holly jams herself between us, slinging an arm around both of our shoulders.
“I didn’t come here to stand, kids. I had a guy throw up on me at the hospital yesterday and am spending tomorrow cramming out a paper. Tonight, we dance!” She lets go of us and reaches between us toward Amber, who shimmies forward in her high heels, laughing and drunk already.
“You better take it easy on her. She’ll be passed out within the hour if you keep going at this rate,” I laugh.
Maddy takes a long swig from her beer, then reaches over to set it on an empty table.
“Yeah, probably. Sucks to be the rookie,” she laughs, looking at me for a brief second, her smile falling when she looks back out to her two carefree friends on the dance floor.
Couples are starting to form, and the fact that Maddy and I are standing close to the dance floor begins to feel weird. She points over her shoulder, toward our table, and I nod, but when she turns, I reach out to grab her arm, stopping her.
“Actually…” My head tips down, my eyes at her waist. I glance up into her surprised expression and shrug, letting my hand slide from her arm until I’m holding an open palm in front of her. “Whataya say? I don’t think I ever actually got to dance with you.”
Her brow bunches and she looks out at the people dancing under the strings of lights. She cups the back of her neck, and her eyes come to me again.
“You…dance?” she asks.
I close one eye, and wrinkle my other brow.
“I mean, not in a while, but yeah. I can handle the two-step,” I say, starting to feel silly holding my hand out for her to take. She looks at it again, then back up to me, finally taking my palm and smiling on one side of her mouth.
Her fingers are tiny in my grasp. I don’t know how they’re so lethal in the water, and I’m careful with them as I turn and lead her to an open area on the outdoor patio. My pulse quickens when I realize I have to turn and face her, and my other hand needs to hold her close. I thread my fingers through hers, our hands held at shoulder height between us while my other hand moves nervously to the curve of her waist.
I sway forward and back in rhythm with the rushing fiddles and guitar, and I concentrate on keeping this exact, arbitrary amount of space between our bodies for the entirety of the song. I don’t realize how rigid my muscles are or how long I’ve been holding my breath until the song ends and the
“To be honest with you, I’ve never really been much of a boob man,” I say, my eyes still mesmerized by her perfect profile. She laughs, and I love the way it makes her move.
“Bullshit,” she says.
I don’t answer, and eventually she turns to look at me, squinting.
I cross my heart, and she purses her lips, leaning her head in doubt.
“Swear to god,” I say. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like them,” I say through a guilty smile, chuckling. She nods like she’s caught me in a lie, then glances back out on the dance floor. I watch her for a few more quiet seconds, and then I do something completely stupid.
“Your hair does this thing when you wear it like that. It sort of tickles the curve of your neck, right…here,” I say, reaching up and drawing my finger lightly along the few inches of skin from her jaw down to the strap of her dress. My eyes move to hers, and I catch her looking at my finger against her skin a second before her eyes flit to mine. I breathe in slowly and pull my hand away, pushing both palms in my pockets again. “Anyway…just…I notice other things. That’s all.”
I can feel Maddy staring at me long after I turn my attention back to the people on the dance floor. When the band finishes a song, I hear her take a deep breath, like she’s about to speak, but we both startle when Holly jams herself between us, slinging an arm around both of our shoulders.
“I didn’t come here to stand, kids. I had a guy throw up on me at the hospital yesterday and am spending tomorrow cramming out a paper. Tonight, we dance!” She lets go of us and reaches between us toward Amber, who shimmies forward in her high heels, laughing and drunk already.
“You better take it easy on her. She’ll be passed out within the hour if you keep going at this rate,” I laugh.
Maddy takes a long swig from her beer, then reaches over to set it on an empty table.
“Yeah, probably. Sucks to be the rookie,” she laughs, looking at me for a brief second, her smile falling when she looks back out to her two carefree friends on the dance floor.
Couples are starting to form, and the fact that Maddy and I are standing close to the dance floor begins to feel weird. She points over her shoulder, toward our table, and I nod, but when she turns, I reach out to grab her arm, stopping her.
“Actually…” My head tips down, my eyes at her waist. I glance up into her surprised expression and shrug, letting my hand slide from her arm until I’m holding an open palm in front of her. “Whataya say? I don’t think I ever actually got to dance with you.”
Her brow bunches and she looks out at the people dancing under the strings of lights. She cups the back of her neck, and her eyes come to me again.
“You…dance?” she asks.
I close one eye, and wrinkle my other brow.
“I mean, not in a while, but yeah. I can handle the two-step,” I say, starting to feel silly holding my hand out for her to take. She looks at it again, then back up to me, finally taking my palm and smiling on one side of her mouth.
Her fingers are tiny in my grasp. I don’t know how they’re so lethal in the water, and I’m careful with them as I turn and lead her to an open area on the outdoor patio. My pulse quickens when I realize I have to turn and face her, and my other hand needs to hold her close. I thread my fingers through hers, our hands held at shoulder height between us while my other hand moves nervously to the curve of her waist.
I sway forward and back in rhythm with the rushing fiddles and guitar, and I concentrate on keeping this exact, arbitrary amount of space between our bodies for the entirety of the song. I don’t realize how rigid my muscles are or how long I’ve been holding my breath until the song ends and the
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