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Chapter Three
Finley
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Ilet Abel move usalong the dance floor. One song turns into two and before I know it, the third starts to play.
I’m completely out of my element. I’ve never danced this intimately with someone before, especially not a guy like Abel. A man, who in the span of thirty minutes has almost made me forget the heaviness of this day.Almost.
The thought is still there of course. The worry and anxiety. It’s balled tightly in my chest and refuses to budge. But my mind is focused on him. On the way he smells, on the way he feels against me, on the way he keeps pressing his face into my hair and holding me like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him, even though we’ve only just met.
“For what it’s worth,” Abel pulls back slightly as the third song enters the chorus. “I think you’re a very good dancer.” He smiles down at me.
“Not sure walking around in slow circles is considered dancing, but I’ll take it.” I find myself smiling, and for the first time in a very long time feeling like I mean it.
I’ve forced so many smiles over my life, faked my way through so many things. It feels refreshing to feel like my actions meet what I’m feeling inside.
“Well, you didn’t step on my feet, so there’s that.” He smirks.
“You’re being easy on me. I’m starting to think you might genuinely be a nice guy.”
“As opposed to what, not being a nice guy?” He smirks.
“An asshole pretending to be a nice guy,” I tell him bluntly.
“Well, thank you. I think. You know, you might be the first girl that’s ever called me a nice guy.”
“Well, maybe that should tell you something about the girls you surround yourself with.”
He thinks on that for a minute, a softness moving over his features. “You know, I think maybe you’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“And what makes you so sure? You don’t even know me.” His words are playful.
“No, but if the girl that was hanging all over you earlier was any indication, pardon my bluntness, but you don’t have the greatest taste in the female sex.”
“And you said you weren’t watching me,” he teases.
“I wasn’t. It’s not my fault she made a spectacle of making sure she was noticed.”
“For the record, she’s not the kind of girl I like.” He reaches out, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I suck in a sharp breath, my entire body feeling the effects of that one small, innocent gesture.
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“So what kind of girls do you like?” I ask, not sure I really want to know the answer.
“A girl who knows who she is.”
“Does anyone really know who they are?” I argue.
“Some more than others.” He grins. “Take you for example. While maybe a little unsure of yourself, you strike me as the kind of girl who knows exactly what you want.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I give him a disbelieving look, thinking he’s got me pegged all wrong.
