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“Dancing and I aren’t really friends,” I tell him, leaning my head toward him so he can hear me.
“Really?” he asks, pulling his chin inward. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for that.”
“Oh,” I say, eyebrows raised, turning my head so we’re looking at each other, our faces mere inches apart. “Do I give off dancer vibes?”
“Absolutely,” he says, the corner of his lip quirked upward.
“Did you miss me tripping into the Tuesday meeting? Because that was a dead giveaway.”
I blame the stupid tan leather strappy sandals with the stiletto heels I’d thought looked cute with the white ankle pants I was wearing. I mean, it did look cute, but what wasn’t cute was me tripping as I walked into the leadership team meeting that morning and barely catching myself on the conference room table, stealthily preventing myself from falling on the floor. Sir Jason was there to witness it and told me that “it’s best to put one foot in front of the other when walking.” He is, and always has been, a tool. I told him thank you once I’d righted myself, and then gave him a thumbs-up.
It was unfortunately not one of those things that you move on from and get over. I replayed it in my head over and over the rest of the day and still can’t seem to let it go.
If that isn’t enough to convince him, to add further proof, I could also bring up the chair I fell out of that fateful night at the bar where Nadia and Shane first met, but I’d rather not.
Grayson chuckles next to me. I can barely hear him over the loud music, but I can see the smile on his face and feel the shoulder that’s touching mine as it shakes slightly.
“So, no dancing at all?” he asks.
“Nope.” I shake my head slowly back and forth.
“I’m not really much of a dancer either.”
“You looked pretty good to me,” I say, the words popping out of my mouth without thinking. I turn my head away from him so he can’t see thewhat the hellface I’m making at myself.You looked pretty good to me?Wow. I’ve basically just told him I’ve been stalking him with my eyeballs.
“Well, thanks,” he says, taking it in stride. “So why don’t you like to dance?”
I take a breath. I’m not actually going to tell him, but I need a second to think of a good reason. “Years ago, my brother asked me to do a dance at his wedding as a surprise for his bride.”
Okay, so I guess Iamgoing to tell him. Well played, Mila.
“Yeah?”
“And let’s just say it didn’t go well.”
“What happened?”
“I went for a kick, caught the hem of my long dress with my heel, lost my balance, and grabbed on to the nearest thing I could, which happened to be a man standing next to the bride—my new sister-in-law—causing him to dump an entire glass of red wine on her white wedding dress.”
Grayson eyes the glass of red wine in my hand and purposefully leans away from me. This couch is small, though, so he can only lean so far.
“You should honestly be worried,” I say, my voice a little louder so he can hear me.
He leans back toward me with a smile on his face.
“And that’s what’s kept you from dancing ever since?” he asks, his head near mine again so we can hear each other over the music.
“Well, that, and I’m honestly not any good at it,” I tell him.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you should.”
“Doesn’t Dave take you dancing?” he asks, searching my face with his eyes, like he’s looking for some kind of answer in my expression.
“No.” I shake my head. “Dave and I have never been dancing.” And I can say this with full honesty.
Grayson’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something else, but the DJ interrupts him.
