Page 62 of All Our Nevers

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes. “If you dare. Fair warning, I bite.”

His chuckle is low and soft as his hands find my waist. My arms circle over his shoulders as the song switches again—“The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra.

It starts as a sway, but by the end of the first verse we’re dancing. Owen spins me out, under his arm, into a turn, and he’s surprisingly good. I’ve never been great at following, but his motions are smooth and gentle and it feels natural to mirror his steps. A conversation with our bodies—a give and a take. I twist back into him, a bit off balance, and he manages to turn it into a sweeping dip. Then I’m laughing, loud and bright.

“You’re not bad,” I say once I’m back on my feet.

“A second compliment?” He grins. “This is a night for the record books.”

“Yeah well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Don’t get soft on me now,” he says. “I’d miss that vindictive spark too much.”

“You would, huh?”

“Mhm,” he says. “You might be the most challenging person I’ve ever met. You won’t let me get away with an ounce of bullshit. I need that.”

I’ve certainly been called challenging before.

Many times.

I don’t think it’s ever been a compliment until now.

As the final notes play, Owen spins me into another low dip, holding my entire body weight with one arm. Our faces are inches apart, and we create no distance as we right ourselves, his arm wrapped around my back, my hands cradling his neck.

We’re so close; breaths fanning across skin, bodies warming each other’s, cheeks pinked in the dim light. His expression shifts, from smiling and playful to something softer, more transparent. His gaze darts between my eyes, then down to my lips. It snags there—a knot in the thread.

My fingers inch up the back of his neck into his dark hair. He’s warm and solid, pulse beating a steady, thick rhythm under my thumb. We’re tucked into the back of the balcony now, shaded completely by the steep angles and low light.

Owen’s arms tighten around me, one hand trailing up to the center of my back, to the expanse of smooth skin above the edge of my chiffon bridesmaid’s dress. The other hand takes hold of my waist, ardent fingers pressing warmly into ribs. His gaze is molten lava beneath a hard lawyer of stone, pressure bubbling under the surface.

“Owen,” I breathe, so close but not close enough.

“This is a bad idea,” he says, eyes growing darker.

“Yes,” I say, fingers tightening in his hair.

“And you don’t like me.”

“Maybe not.” I shift forward until my lips can graze the shell of his ear. “But maybe right now I just want to feel good. Leave my head and live in my body.” I pull back until I can look at him again, brown eyes meeting blue ones. “Don’t you ever want that, too?”

His breath is ragged as he says, “All the fucking time.”

Our bodies are locked together, aligned in all the places that count—except one.

“But you’re Andy’s best friend,” he says.

“I am.”

“And we’re gonna have to see each other after this. All the time.”

“Are you planning to be embarrassed by your performance?”

His laugh is a deep, desperate scratch. “Hardly.”

“Then what?” I ask, breath tracing his lips, tantalizingly close to what we both want. “What are you so scared of, Owen?”

His pupils dilate in the darkness, gaze dropping down to my mouth. I take my bottom lip between my teeth. His fingers tighten on my waist.