I grab his wrist and pull him into the middle of the room, my grip firm enough that he has to follow. “Okay,” I say, standing tall, my arms raised in a defiant arc. “First position.”
He stares at me, his expression a mix of amusement and pure exhaustion.
“Rabbit.”
“Do it.”
He sighs like I’ve just asked him to climb a mountain without a rope, then awkwardly lifts his arms, his movements stiff and unfamiliar.
I burst out laughing.
He attempts a turn. Nearly trips over his own feet, stumbling forward with a grunt. “You’re a terrible teacher,” he huffs, straightening up.
I laugh harder, doubling over, clutching my stomach. “You’re a terrible dancer.”
“Oh yeah?” he grumbles, his voice laced with mock offense. “Show me something else, then. Something easy.”
“Easy?” I straighten up, wiping a tear from my eye. “Okay, bad boy. Lift your arms out to the side, like this.”
He does, his movements stiff and awkward.
“Good. Now, port de bras. Move your arms. Slowly. Like you’re… caressing the air.”
He tries. His arms move in jerky, uncoordinated circles. It’s the most ungraceful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t help it. I dissolve into another fit of laughter, stumbling back against the bar. “Stop, stop, you’re going to pull something!”
“I’m not that bad,” he mutters, lowering his arms with a heavy sigh.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “It’s just… you’re so stiff. All that muscle and no grace. It’s a shame.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Grace isn’t what I’m good at, rabbit.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “No? What are you good at?”
He takes a step closer. “Breaking things.” His gaze flicks down to my mouth and back up. “And cleaning it up.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “So dark,” I tease, though my voice comes out breathy. “You make it sound like you hurt people.”
“Only when I lose control.”
The words hang in the air, a confession and a warning all at once. I watch him as he drifts back toward the bar, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and taps one loose. He lights it, the flame a small, defiant spark in the gloom. He holds the pack out to me.
I hesitate for about half a second before taking one.
“Tar City rules?” he asks, his voice low.
“Tar City rules.”
We smoke in silence for a moment, the music playing in the background. I hop up onto the bar counter, legs swinging slightly, watching him. Jax leans against the counter across from me, arms folded, studying me through the smoke. For a littlewhile, the years between us don’t feel like a chasm at all. They almost feel like they never happened.
“Okay,” I say suddenly.
“What.”
“You tell me a secret, I tell you one.”
He squints at me, suspicious. “A secret?”
“That’s what friends do,” I say. “Right? We’re friends now.”
