I shot him a look that he ignored. He grabbed my hand instead, pulling me the rest of the way to dance under the lights. I craned my neck, searching for Nellie or even Beck, but the people around me were too tall. The measly lift my sneakers offered helped me none.
Whereas everyone on the dance floor swayed their bodies in time with the beat, Dalton started wiggling his body side to side in some kind of old-fashioned dance move. He stuck out like a sore—and incredibly embarrassing—thumb. He stretched his arms out as he pretended a wave rolled through him, and then that move transitioned into some sort of popping of his elbows.
When he started to do the Sprinkler, another traitorous laugh slipped out of me, this one louder. “Oh my gosh, stop,stop.” I grabbed Dalton’s outstretched arm, pulling it down. “You’re so stupid.”
“There,” he called with a grin. His eyes roamed myexpression, lingering on my mouth. “Havefun, Daisy! Do you remember what that feels like?”
Fun. Immediately, the accusation made me feel indignant. I hadfun. All the time. I sketched in my room—that was fun. WatchingWizards, Wizardswith the kids before bed was fun. Senior Skip Day had been fun, even if it had just been Jamie and me getting ice cream.
Dalton started doing the Sprinkler again, and this time I watched him.
Stupid, mindless fun—thatwas what he meant. The kind that made you giggle and made your cheeks hot, but you did it anyway. When was the last time I hadthatkind of fun? Years. Before I had to be home to take care of tummy aches and bedtimes. Before I had to be home for bus drop-offs. Before the responsibility of four lives had stacked up on my shoulders.
But not tonight. Tonight, Mom was home, making dinner for the kids and tucking them into bed, and I didn’t technically need to worry about them until morning, when she left for work. Tonight, I could have stupid, mindless fun.
I grabbed Dalton’s hand again and stopped his sprinkling, but this time, I didn’t let go. It was like an electric current shot through me, the urge to dance jumping from him to me. And then, instead of fighting the vibrating crowd, I gave in to it.
Dancing well, I quickly discovered, was not a requirement for clubs. At least not for me. I shook my hips, trying to match the beat of the drums, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Dalton still threw in a strange move here andthere, designed to make me laugh, but then twisted his hand in my grip so he could twirl me around. My hair flew out, the blur of the strobe lights disorienting me, transporting me to the land offun.
Thiswas what it felt like to be young and carefree. To be someone who didn’t have to worry about feeding four kids breakfast and keeping them from throwing plastic cups or punches. This was a careless freedom I’d only get small tastes of, and tonight was one of them.
And I decided to close my eyes and enjoy it.
A few girls came up and joined us, and I turned my attention to them, because I’d dance withanyone, not just my ex-boyfriend. I flailed my arms with them, and we all pretended like the band was good when it switched songs. This tune was harder, heavier, less stylistic like the Untapped Potential song they’d played. Easier to toss my head to. A little bit harder to find the beat to.
In the middle of the song and the pulsing lights, I caught a glimpse of Nellie through the crowd, where Beck had his hands on her waist, and her arms were looped around his neck. They grinned at each other as they danced, and Beck leaned in to murmur something in her ear. I only saw a slow grin spread across her lips before the crowd moved again, shielding them from view.
Adorable.
A hand grazed along my arm, and I barely noticed it at first, thinking someone was just slipping past me, until the glancing touch became five fingers of solid pressure. I looked over my shoulder, and Dalton stood there, deliberately not meeting my eye as he continued to dance closer.
I instinctually shoved his hand off, but he must’ve thought I was just moving it down, because his palm curved at my waist. For the first time, the touch caused something cold to clench in my stomach.
“Personal space,” I tried to tell him, but the words were lost as the drummer slammed down on the cymbals.
One of the girls grabbed my hand, pulling me closer, away from Dalton, her heavily lined eyes flicking up to him. “Do you know him?” she called to me, words I could read more from her lips than hear them aloud.
I nodded. “My ex.”
She nodded, but the twist of her lips didn’t disappear.
I shoved at Dalton’s hand again. It slipped a little, but his other came up to my other hip to steady himself, as if he was afraid of losing me in the crowd. That wasn’t the reason, though—and he wasreallystarting to tick me off.
I thought of the last dance we’d been to. It’d been my junior prom, and we’d danced on a loud dancefloor much like this one, but with a crappier DJ instead of live music. His hands had been on my hips, but kept slipping along my back. Repeatedly, I’d had to nudge his hands higher while brushing it off, pretending it was endearing and not skin-crawling.
Now, though, I had no reason to pretend. And in that moment, as I looked up into his eyes, and instead of timid, I felt furious. “I swear, Dalton, get your hands off?—”
The hand I’d been pushing on suddenly ripped off my hip with enough force that Dalton swung away. A hand gripped his wrist tightly, fingers curling into the softflesh, and for a wild moment, I thought it was the girl with the thick liner.
But the person standing there, gripping Dalton’s arm like they wanted to break it, wasn’t a stranger.
“I’m going to say it for the last time.” The music was still loud, but Jamie’s low voice was clear. “Keep your hands off my girlfriend.”
The words slammed into me, electricity flicking across my skin. Heat swamped through and chased away the cold feeling that’d clenched my gut at Dalton’s touch.I’m going to say it for the last time.My head swam, the rhythm of the music muffled.Keep your hands off my girlfriend.
Jamie threw Dalton’s hand back at him and turned toward me, and just before it shifted, I caught the look on his face. His eyes, half hidden behind the glare of his glasses, were full of rage. His jaw was clenched so tightly that I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, and he let out a sharp breath through his nose.
More than just rage—jealousy.
