They were right. Every single time I’d looked back or spun around while I danced, Dominic had been looking right at me. He was playing his part perfectly—the girls actually believed that he was eye-fucking me. I should play my part, too. He was supposed to be my boyfriend, and I was the already drunk girlfriend. It was my right to demand a dance.
“Go!” Sarah said, and this time, she even pushed me with all her strength, which wasn’t much, but it did make me step back.
“Fine!” I said, laughing and shaking my head.
Yes—fine. I was going to go ask my pretend boyfriend for a dance.
But the closer I got to him, the more I noticed how much my feet were hurting, and the more it dawned on me what dancing with Dominic meant. His hands would be on me. Our bodies would be close. Moving. Pressing against each other.
Oh, God.
Too late. It was too late to change my mind now. I was right in front of him, and he looked up at me like I was an angel come to save his life.
Maybe it was that tiny bit of whiskey I’d drunk, or maybe the dancing had gotten to my head, or maybe my mind had decided to take the words of those girls a little too seriously. Either way, I burst into a giggle, and I sat on Dominic’s lap before I could think twice.
But I was supposed to do that, wasn’t I? He was my pretend boyfriend. So, I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought my cheek next to his, just to feel that beard I couldn’t see. It reassured me that this was Dominic still, not somebody else.
“Dance with me,” I whispered in his ear.
His hand suddenly wrapped around my waist, and he dug his fingers into my dress, making me gasp.
“I’m not going to dance with you,” he said. I could barely make out the words.
But he still didn’t push me away—he held me tight against his chest instead. He could have easily put me on the couch next to him, but he didn’t. And he didn’t lean his head away, either. He kept his cheek pressed to mine.
“C’mon, Dominic,” I complained, trying my best to ignore the heat pulsating between my legs. Fuck, he was so big. I fit so comfortably in his arms. His chest was so hard, his skin so soft. I couldn’t help but run my fingers on the ends of his hair, which was silky smooth, too, just like it had always looked from a distance.
“Teddy, stop,” he choked, but I wasn’t about to.
Just one dance. That’s all I wanted.
“Boyfriends dance with their girlfriends,” I insisted and leaned my head away a little bit so I could look into his eyes. Instead, my traitorous ones stopped on his lips. But those didn’t look right. Too long. Too thin. So, I let go of his hair and brought my fingers to his lips, just to feel the real ones underneath all that magic. I bit my tongue to hold back a moan as soon as I traced his cupid’s bow.
What the hell had gotten into me? A voice, almost like a separate part of me that still had the ability to think, tried to warn me, but it was so easy to ignore it.
Because I was never going to be here again. I was never going to relive this night. Why not take advantage of this one small thing?
Besides, I was doing my damn job, wasn’t I?
“Teddy,” he warned, wrapping his hand around mine, but he didn’t push it away. He didn’t move his head, either. He let my fingertips run over the line of his lips still.
“Boyfriends kiss their girlfriends,” I whispered, so low I was afraid he might not hear it. Or that he would.
Finally, he moved. With his hand on the back of my neck, he pressed me to him and groaned like he was in pain. I held onto his neck again, eyes squeezed shut, feeling the heat of his body pressed to mine.
A spark had been lit somewhere inside me—by the scent of him, the touch of him, the sound of him, maybe the dancing and the music, too—but that spark was tiny. I wanted more. I wanted to burn all the way.
“Let’s dance,” he whispered in my ear, and the vibrations his voice sent through me ended up right between my clenched thighs. Ugh, if he held me against him like that and just whispered in my ear, I could come in seconds.
But he put his other hand on my waist, too, completely wrapping his fingers all around me, and he pulled me to my feet before I had the chance to think. Everything was a blur—all I knew was that he had his hands on me, and mine were around his neck, which I could barely reach now that we were standing. We moved slowly, not at all in rhythm with the beat. We had our very own beat inside our heads, and we followed it closely, swinging to the sides like we were in a dream.
My eyes were closed, my mind lost to my senses that were overwhelmed by this man I’d spent so many days forcing myself to hate. I never really did. I’d watched him so closely, even when I didn’t realize it at all, that I knew what his fingernails looked like. If that wasn’t pathetic, I don’t know what was.
But…maybe it wasn’t. He was here, wasn’t he? He’d listened to my stories, and he’d brought me that chocolate bar, and he was dancing with me. Maybe he knew what my fingernails looked like, too?
My body moved on its own, and I wrapped my arms around him tighter, bringing our bodies closer together. Yeah, I was turned on—I was always turned on when he was around, apparently—but there was something else I felt this time, too.
I was safe. I belonged.