Chapter 6
Amelie
I slip my hand into his open palm. But then I realize our error. We aren’t in a club where music plays nonstop and everyone dances. We’re at a concert. In the VIP section. I pull on his hand, trying to stop him, and he bends his ear closer to my mouth. “There’s not a dance space. This is a concert,” I say.
He pulls back and looks down at me, smiling. “I was right. You are extremely astute.”
When he winks at me, I smile before I can stop it. My body truly seems to be under autonomous control when it comes to the man, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Carter, we can’t be the only ones dancing!”
“Why the hell not? Every movement has to have a leader, right?”
“Well, sure it does, but it doesn’t have to be me. Not tonight.”
He pulls his hand from mine, and I lament the loss — again.
What the hell is going on with me?!
He trails his hand along my waist at the band of my jeans and squeezes the hip furthest from him. The warmth of his hand bleeds through the fabric of my thin poplin shirt. I’ve never been overly fond of or grateful for the sticky, hot summers in Nashville, but since it called for me wearing the thinnest top possible tonight, I figure I can be a little thankful for it this once.
He pulls me closer to his side and speaks very closely to my ear. “It is going to be you. And it is going to be tonight. I want to feel you in my arms.”
The same words from others in the past cause anxiety and tension, sometimes even fear, but from him, they just felt… right.
I purse my lips and exhale slowly. Plucking the cotton between my fingers, I billow my shirt away from my body and back a handful of times. “Is it warmer than usual in here?”
“The only thing that’s out of the ordinary tonight is the crowd. It’s usually packed here on Friday nights, but I’ve never seen it quite like this. Thank the holiday for that, I guess. You’re probably feeling all the extra body heat.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it.” I stumble over something on the floor as he leads me towards the only open space inside the VIP area. “It’s really dark in here, too.”
“Do you have your phone on you? We need a light.”
I slip my phone from my back pocket and hold the button for the flashlight until it shines on the floor. He wraps his fingers around my wrist and tugs me closer to him until my body is practically pressed against his while he uses my phone to light up the floor in front of us.
“How do I turn this off?” He taps around until he presses the right button, and the floor goes dark again. “Ah. There we go.”
Sliding my phone into his back pocket, he turns to face me and draws me closer to him. My nervousness about dancing in the middle of all these important people — alone — has yet to abate, and I know Carter can tell.
With one hand clasping mine and the other resting at the small of my back, he slowly sways us to the rhythm of the song playing over the speakers. Muddy Boots hasn’t taken the stage yet, so the DJ takes over until they do.
My mind races as my skin pebbles under my clothes and my hand registers the warmth of his shoulder through his shirt. Is this normal? Are all the feelings and thoughts in my head what everyone else encounters? Does touch make every other person on the planet besides me feel warm and cozy all over? Realistically, I understand that I’m not the only touch-averse person alive, but these thoughts and others like them have lived rent-free in my head for a really long time.
I’ve been to countless weddings when friends and co-workers and family members got married, and I’ve watched from the sidelines for years as dance floors filled and reverberated with music and good vibes, and I’ve never – not even once – been in the middle of the fray. I’ve never even been on the fringes. I’ve always been a bystander, an outlier, and I know it’s self-induced. I would never blame another soul for my own issues, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to find someone who pushes me enough to want to change – for both myself and for them.
Then when I realize I’m dancing with a man I met mere minutes before, I think: Maybe I have.
“Who sings this song?” I ask, trying to make small talk even though I always ask ridiculous questions when I do.
“You know, it’s funny, but I don’t know. I’m usually pretty hard to stump when it comes to music trivia, but this one isn’t one I’ve heard before. Must be newer.”
I hum quietly in response and feel the hand on my back move to my hip as he winds us closer together. My breathing accelerates just a bit, and all I can think is I hope he doesn’t notice. I’m so damn awkward, and I want — just once — to act appropriately.
“Well, look at that.”
I lift my head and look at him, and when I see his gaze on something just behind me, I turn.
“Looks like we’re trendsetters, huh?” I laugh at the couples filling the open floor around us.
“Looks like it,” he answers with a smile.