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But he broke away, turning her loose, holding nothing but her hand.
He tapped a finger on her lips. “You can’t make me promise to be good, then do that. We’ll never get to the dance.”
She almost didn’t care. She actually almost said that, but then her brain kicked into gear.
Hunter must have gotten the gist anyway, because he chuckled and kissed her palm. “Come on, beautiful.”
Then he turned to move down the steps, and, attached to his hand, she followed right behind him.
Every year, the school tried really hard. But no matter what they did to it, the gym still looked like a gym, just with the halogen lights turned off and red and blue streamers everywhere. The acoustics sucked for a band, but the deejay seemed to have a handle on the sound system, because Becca could actually distinguish lyrics from the throbbing bass line.
Becca spotted Quinn right off, her friend’s dance skills on full display. She and Rafe had carved out a space near the center of the dance floor, and the jewels on her dress caught the light and flared with color.
Becca leaned into Hunter and said, “See what I mean?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “That’s totally subtle.”
Rafe took Quinn’s hand and spun her, and the dress flared, generating plenty of catcalls and a few insults.
“She’s crazy,” said Becca.
“She’s just having fun. Come on.” Hunter pulled her into the crowd of people.
Neither her dress nor her dance skills were enough to buy Becca the kind of room Quinn enjoyed. Kids pressed in around them, nameless faces she barely recognized under the strobe lights. Hunter didn’t seem to mind, keeping her close for fast songs—and closer for slow ones. She had no idea if he was a good dancer. She just liked the feel of his body against hers.
Like that live wire feeling on the porch, she felt electric tonight, charged by the music or the energy or the emotion in the air. It reminded her of that moment when Nick sent wind whipping across her driveway, like something tangible flickering just out of her reach. All she had to do was grab hold.
“What’s with you tonight?” said Quinn when they had a moment alone. The boys had gone to fetch sodas, and she and Quinn were giggling and swaying to some eighties hit by the side of the crowd.
“I don’t know,” said Becca. “What?”
“You’re, like, glowing or something—wait. I know.” Quinn reached out and took her chin, tilting her face up and down, then sideways, as if looking for something. “You’re happy. I didn’t recognize it.”
Becca knocked her hand away. “You’re crazy.”
“Pine all you want for Chris, but New Kid actually put a smile on your face.”
“Damn it, Quinn, I’m not pining for—”
“Oh. Okay. So it won’t bother you if I tell you he’s over there with Monica Lawrence?” Quinn pointed.
Becca whipped her head around before realizing it probably wasn’t a good idea. Quinn was right. There stood Chris by the edge of the indoor bleachers, his face half in shadow. He had a drink in one hand, and Monica had her entire body up against his.
He didn’t exactly look like he was fighting her off.
“Is it me, or is she humping his leg?” said Quinn.
“Shut up,” Becca muttered. Then Hunter was back, holding out a cup of soda. She drank the whole thing in almost one swallow.
Hunter watched this feat with a bemused expression on his face. “You know that’s just Diet Coke, right?”
“Maybe I’m just warming up,” she said.
And then she kissed him.
She caught him by surprise—but that didn’t last long. His lips parted for hers, and her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close. Hands caught her waist, strong and sure through the thin chiffon.
She could swear she saw starbursts, like that night on the bridge. Wind in her hair, fire on her lips, the ground beneath her feet, parquet over concrete stretching into the earth below. And water—water everywhere. The first flare of sweat on her skin, the taste of Hunter on her lips, the ice in the cup hanging from her fingers.
