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The crowd gasps. Even I’m stunned—not to mention terrified. This is going to be ahugeundertaking, and I know who’ll be right next to Angus, doing all the dirty work.
Strangely, the only person who doesn’t seem surprised is Sullivan. As he listens to my boss, his lips twitch enough to show a glint of teeth.
I start to get a very bad feeling.
“Did you know about this?” I hiss.
“Shh,” Sullivan says.
“As soon as we find the right piece of land, we’re going to start building,” Angus announces. “And in a year, you’ll be seeing those beautiful, bright Galactic rockets racing across the sky!”
The crowd is ecstatic, not at the prospect of moon martinis but at the massive pie Angus is offering up. Be they a journalist, inventor, or investor, everyone here is scheming how to get their slice…including the man standing right next to me.
“Now let’s get this party started!” Angus shouts.
“Let’s dance.” Linking his fingers with mine, Sullivan pulls me into the crowd.
He rests his hand on the small of my back, just high enough not to be vulgar but low enough that his pinky finger rests on the top of my ass.
Of course he’s a good dancer. Goddamnit.
This is so extremely weird.
Sullivan smells almost exactly like he used to. But he doesn’t look the same—his hair’s shorter on the sides now and longer on top. The shadow on his jawline is darker, the jaw itself both wider and heavier.
All of him is heavier. Less boy, more man. His back is thick beneath my fingers.
I step on his foot.
“Was that on purpose?”
“Yes.”
No—just clumsy.
I’ve never danced at one of Angus’ parties. It feels transgressive. I’m whipping my head around, trying to monitor the status of the bar and the buffet table while keeping tabs on Angus himself, who must be wondering why I haven’t yet appeared at his elbow.
“Relax,” Sullivan says. “Everything’s going fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because everybody’s smiling. Hear that?” He twirls me around, quickly and efficiently, as easy to manipulate as a yoyo. My skirt flares out.Please tell me that I didn’t flash my underwear.“That’s the buzz of a happy party.”
He’s right—the clink of glasses and chatter of guests and soft music is all in harmony. Even Angus looks pleased, though he casts a curious glance in my direction. He’s probably wondering who invited Channing Tatum.
“I’m not supposed to be dancing,” I hiss.
“Why not?” Sullivan says. “You’re good at it.”
I’m not a great dancer, but Sullivan makes it seem like I am. He sweeps me around so it’s impossible to do anything but follow, his hand pressed against the small of my back.
He’s not looking at Angus. Sullivan gazes into my eyes like he’s here to see me and me alone. Like the rest of the party doesn’t exist.
It’s confusing and unsettling, and I keep ordering myself not to blush. I willnotbe attracted to this man, I don’t care how good he smells.
I keep telling myself that as he pulls me closer, our linked fingers cradled against his chest. Even though I know this is all part of some strange charade, the fluttering in my chest feels all too real.
I do not have a crush on Sullivan.
