Johnny steps closer, placing his hand on my lower back to guide me through the throng. When the crowd gets too tight, he slides his fingers down my arm and latches them onto my hand, weaving me safely through.
My breath hitches at his touch, and for a second, I think I’ve gone into shock.
Together, we make it through, his grasp lingering once we’ve cleared the boisterous bunch.
He drops my hand. “Sorry.”
I swallow and keep my mouth shut, words seeming to fail me at the moment. I cross my arms over my chest and eliminate the possibility of something like that happening again.
I hate that I didn’t hate it.
That it felt natural. Like it was something we had done a million times before.
The illuminated sign up ahead signals that I’m near my destination.
Johnny trails by my side, not showing any indication that he’ll be departing.
Was he lying? Is he actually following me? Is he really going somewhere in this direction, just maybe past where I'll be stopping?
“Did something happen?” He glances down at me.
“What?”
He keeps walking a few inches to my left. “You seem different. Tense?”
How is it possible that he’s picking up on that kind of energy? Clearly, I’m edgy, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m not trying to pry.” He meets my gaze again.
“Then don’t,” I snap at him. If he isn’t trying to intrude, then why is he?
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I notice the inflection in his tone. "Why does it matter?" I stop in front of the bar.
He points to the entrance, and I nod a confirmation.
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” He clutches the handle and tugs on the door, holding it open for me.