It feels like something out of a dream, dancing with Nate.
“You’re good at this,” I tell him honestly.
“Been told I’m alright. Back in the day, anyway.”
“Back in the day,” I repeat, “What are you, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
“Thirty. Old as dirt.” That makes me laugh, and he grins like that’s all he wanted.
The song playing is slow and romantic, and I let myself sink into the moment.
I know I shouldn’t, but I imagine that Nate knows me completely and still chooses to hold me in front of everyone.
That the ease and the warmth wouldn’t go away.
The way he’s rubbing his thumb up and down on my waist-
It wouldn’t go away.
“You know,” he starts, pulling me closer, tighter in his grip in a way that has the butterflies in my stomach going wild. “I was playing it cool in front of the girls. But right now, I gotta tell you…”
He leans in, his mouth right against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, “You are just about the prettiest thing I ever seen in that dress.”
“You… You really think so?” I ask, my voice nothing more than a squeak.
He pulls back far enough to look at me, meeting my eyes. “I know so.”
It’s almost too much, feeling these things, trying desperately not to name them.
But my body catches up before my brain does.
My hand wraps around his tie, and he tilts his head slightly. I mimic the movement until our breath mingles together, our noses brush. I want to kiss him so bad, more than I’ve everwanted to do anything.
But I can’t.
When he realizes that I’m not going to, he closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine, and that feels more intimate than his hands on my body.
“You make it real hard to be a gentleman, Darlin’,” he says with a puff of air, making my lips part.
But then he pulls back, his hands staying on my waist, reluctant to let go. “Thanks for the dance.”
“Okay,” I force out.
We stay like that for the longest moment of my life, and just before he walks away, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
It’s small, maybe nothing to most people.
But to me, it feels likeeverything.
Layla appears a moment later, holding two paper cups of punch. I take one look at her, and I can tell she knows exactly what happened.
“Don’t say anything,” I warn.
She passes me a cup. “Who, me? I’m just here to hydrate you. You look a little flushed.”
“Layla.”
“Iris.” She mocks, causing us both to burst into giggles.
