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“Olivia, what is it?” says Tali, waving her hand in front of my face. “What’s the matter?”
My horror must be plain as day. All the blood is drained from my cheeks, my eyes are wide, and my mouth opens, wavering like that of a fish. “I have to go and speak to someone,” I say, which answers none of their questions. I'm so gonna get interrogated later.
But the pleasant intimacy of the club has turned claustrophobic, the music into a thumping in my ears and pounding in my chest, echoed by the uneven footsteps of all the dancers. And it’s too late to do anything because Miles has spotted me too.
We both push our way towards each other, drawn like magnets or like we’re attached to a piece of elastic — one that I'm about to snap into his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I yell once he gets into earshot.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he retorts. We’re clearly both ever so slightly too tipsy for this because the way we look at each other isn't like angry colleagues who are confused and furious to see one another, but rather like strangers who just found each other incredibly attractive.
“Why do you want to know?” I say, not sounding quite as stern as I would like to. “You’re going to get me into trouble. Again.”
“If you like,” he winks. My mouth gapes open and snaps shut again. “You’re with your friends?” he asks, changing the subject.
I nod mutely, looking back at them to see them both nodding and cheering encouragement like they think any of this could be a good idea. Miles shoots them a cheeky grin, and before I can tell him off, he says, “Come on. I'll buy you a drink.”
“Okay, fine,” I say, feeling like all this is spiraling out of control.
“But only if you dance,” says Miles, his grin widening.
“I don't—” I try, but then he’s taking my hand and dragging me away and we’re in the middle of all the people, and my body starts moving against my will. His hand is wrapped around mine, his body is close to me, and his face is just inches away from my lips. All of this should feel wrong.
And yet, it doesn’t. He takes my hands again, and I give in to the rush of feelings, letting my body move however it wants to. We bump against each other, losing ourselves to the music, and I let myself forget everything except the way his hands feel around mine. The way I don’t want him to let go.
CHAPTER 10
MILES
The way Olivia moves her body against mine makes me feel like a teenager all over again. It's already warm in here, but every time she brushes against me, I feel another shot of warmth shoot through my body like she’s trying to set me on fire.
She’s not the best dance partner I’ve ever had — her limbs fly around everywhere a little too much to be called coordinated. But she does have a sense of rhythm, and she does have a fluidity to her hips and arms that tangle me in her web even deeper than I already was.
I knock back the last of my drink and, leaning in to her, I whisper loudly in her ear. “You know, with you, it’s the first time in my life I've ever actively tried to escape a pretty lady chasing me around.” She chuckles in a way I can only describe as uncomfortable, and I frown. “What?”
“Oh, no, nothing,” she stammers, almost too quietly for me to hear. "It’s just that all this is weird for me too.”
“Not used to someone calling you pretty?” I’m both flirting with her and starting to feel a genuine concern. Her self-esteem surely can’t be that low, can it? Nobody with a body or smile like hers deserves to feel shame about anything.
“No, it's not that,” she says. “You're being dumb.”
“I am never dumb,” I say. “But I am sometimes silly.” The way she laughs at my joke makes my heart flutter again. “Let’s get another drink,” I add, taking her elbow to lead her away from the mass of people and back towards the bar where it’s less crowded and ever so slightly quieter.
I order us both a drink and lean against the bar next to her. She turns to look at me, and for a moment she’s the only thing I can see in the room, like she’s glowing. Then she says, “Why do you do it?”
“What?” I ask, blinking in confusion.
“Act like this.” She gestures around us, her lips ever so slightly pursed like she’s sad. “Like you’re some kind of idiot — when you’re not. Why’ve you got to always make a spectacle of yourself?”
My head swims with the pulse of the club, the drinks in my system, and the feeling of Olivia being right here next to me. With her here, it’s almost like the entire world melts away, leaving us in a bubble. It should be impossible to hear what she’s saying, to have a conversation like this in the middle of the club. But I feel I would always be able to hear every word she says to me perfectly. She attracts me in a way nobody else does.
“I don't know,” I lie, shrugging. She narrows her eyes ever so slightly at me, giving me a look that cuts through to my very soul, stripping me open like my cool exterior is nothing. Despite myself, I confess, “It makes me uncomfortable.”
“What does?” she presses.
I hesitate. I think if I had one less drink in my system, I probably wouldn't be about to continue the confession I’m making. But I do have a lot of drinks in me, and she is cracking my vulnerability wide open like an egg. “I don't like being watched,” I say. She raises an eyebrow, and words start tumbling out of me. “I mean, like, you know, the constant surveillance. The feeling like everything I do is being seen by someone. Being seen by you. The feeling that you’re always there, always waiting to jump out at me at any second. It puts me on edge.”
“You could just behave a bit better, then,” she says like the solution is simple. “I would back off.”
