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He rubbed small circles on the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “There you go. Relax, Eesh. You’ve got this. You can do this. You’ve already done it at least a dozen times.”
The right side of her mouth curved upward. “I think that might be the first time you’ve ever called me ‘Eesh.’”
“That’s how confident I am in you.”
“Well, we’ll both screw up if your hair gets into your eyes.” She reached up and fixed his hair, her fingers gliding through the strands and over his scalp.
“Ayesha.” He moved his grip to her hips. If she didn’t stop soon, his hands would move even lower, underneath her dress, back up, and then between her legs. “Hey, Eesh? I think you fixed it.”
“One second.”
Blood pooled in his groin.
He squeezed her hips.
Startled by the unexpected and, admittedly, intimate contact, she jumped. Their eyes met, and they exchanged no words, but it was clear that she understood.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I, uh, didn’t know. I’ll try to be more careful next time.”
“It’s like an on switch.”
She scrunched her nose. “Ugh.”
“Gets me going. Every time.”
“Let’s go.”
He stood and helped her to her feet.
As they walked off, he looked over his shoulder and found that Kofi had taken his vacated seat. The energy between him and Sydney was odd, but he figured Tayler’s cousin had probably asked Sydney out, and she turned him down. It was all for the man’s best, anyhow. Kofi chatted away, but all of Sydney’s attention was aimed in his and Ayesha’s direction.
He and Ayesha stopped in their designated spot on the dance floor, Ayesha so nervous that her pulse beat against his palm. He positioned her in front of him, tucked his fingers beneath her chin, and raised her head.
“Don’t forget. Eyes on me.”
She looked down at her feet. “I need to concentrate on my steps, and—”
“Ayesha.” He raised her head. “You’ve got this. Trust yourself. Trustme.”
They changed positions, standing side by side. The guitar intro to a song called “Fall Again,” which he’d never heard before Larke suggested it, one he now knew all the lyrics to, started up.
They moved in sync across the shiny floor.
Ayesha kept her eyes on him.
After they’d made a full rotation, he twirled her until she faced him, drew her close, and dipped her slightly. When he righted her again, her eyes immediately reconnected with his, their bodies sliding together before they segued into the waltz.
She moved flawlessly.
He spun her out and pulled her back to him, closer than they’d ever practiced, but she didn’t miss a step, rocking against him.
They both swung out this time and came back together, bodies touching, over and over until they reached the quickstep that took them to the breakdown in the middle.
It didn’t matter how he spun her, twirled her—those eyes always came back to his.
Instead of holding hands, again like what they’d practiced, their fingers slid together. Her palm glided along his. His thumb caressed the length of her ring finger. Her fingertips danced over his knuckles. Her forearm brushed his sleeve. His fingernails grazed her elbow.
And his heart nearly broke his ribcage.
