* * *
The final room is bare. There are no more tables or chairs, only a wall-to-wall dance floor and the disco ball of my dreams.
“I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” Isay, staring at a million tiny reflections spilling out over the room as the ball turns.
“Then what are we waiting for?” Benji takes both sets of headphones that are offered to us and passes me one.
The rest of the group is already shuffling on the dance floor—some awkwardly aware of themselves; others dancing freely, already lost to the music.
The melody explodes in my ears as I slip the headphones on, completely erasing any other sound from existence. It’s a thick bass beat with a playful guitar that’s already working its way down my spine, through to my hips and feet, but I can’t get them to move.
The lights are bright in a way a club never is, and I know that once I take the headphones off, there’ll be nothing but the awkward shuffling of feet. People can see me.
Benji has no issues moving. God, he was born to dance. Loose. Confident. He might clam up when emotions come into play, but his body? Oh, he’s extremely in touch with that.
He shifts my headphones so I can hear him speak. “Come on, relax. Have some fun with it.”
Look, it’s not a surprise to say that letting go isn’t easy for me, all right? I couldn’t let go of wanting him when he left, and I can’t seem to let go of my hurt now. Maybe timing is our problem. I was ready when he was scared, and now we’ve flipped.
The best I manage is an awkward bounce. I’m way off the beat, but Benji is smiling at me, amused,before he starts waving his hands above his head like a kid at a backyard concert. It shocks a laugh out of me—and about half the room from the looks of it—and even though he can’t hear it, he’s grinning and grabbing my hand and spinning me around.
This might be the best date I’ve ever had.
Two songs later, and I’ve dropped his hand to push my headphones aside. It’s weird to have the music playing in one ear while I can hear the squeaking of everyone’s shoes on the dance floor, but also nice, you know? When Benji moves his headphones to match, it’s like we’re having a private conversation.
“Why did you agree to all this?” I ask, waving around us. A whole room dedicated to smells? Another where you share secrets? It must be a nightmare for him. “If there was never a date, why do all this?”
“Because you asked me,” he says, stepping closer, until his shoes brush mine and we’re sharing each breath. It’s too much. I want more. “I already messed this up once. I’m going to do it right this time.”
“I could have met someone else.”
He drops his hand around my waist, holding me. “Have you? Did you set a date with any of your matches?”
“No.” I haven’t messaged a single one of them.
“Why not?” he asks, his voice low.
He knows why not. He’s too smart to not understand, and even if that wasn’t true, I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
The music abruptly shifts, sliding into a ballad, and half the group decides it’s time to move on. They pass their headphones back and head toward the exit.
I loop my arms around his neck. “How are you doing now? After … everything?”
His grip flexes. “Better. I think it’ll always be a work in progress. But, hey, I want you to know it wasn’t … catastrophic. What I was going through. It’s not even that impressive, just run-of-the-mill self-doubt, a sprinkle of depression. A generous helping of insecurity. I was never in danger of … doing anything serious.”
He’s making light of it, and I get it. It’s easier to start the joke yourself than be on the end of one. But I know this took a lot for him to say, and, dammit, I don’t want to make fun of him. Doesn’t he realize that all I’ve ever wanted from him was the truth?
“Thank you.” I press my cheek to his chest. The headphones dig into the back of my ear, but I don’t care. “I am glad you found someone you could talk to.”
We sway to the music, gentle and slow.
I shiver when Benji kisses the top of my head.
“I want to do better, Paige. Tell me the hoops, and I’ll jump through them.”
Take it all back. Take me back to that night and don’t leave.
“And then what?” I ask, timid.
