CHAPTER 15 #2
Stupid, mindless fun—that was what he meant.
The kind that made you giggle and made your cheeks hot, but you did it anyway.
When was the last time I had that kind of fun?
Years. Before I had to be home to take care of tummy aches and bedtimes.
Before I had to be home for bus drop-offs.
Before the responsibility of four lives had stacked up on my shoulders.
But not tonight. Tonight, Mom was home, making dinner for the kids and tucking them into bed, and I didn’t technically need to worry about them until morning, when she left for work. Tonight, I could have stupid, mindless fun.
I grabbed Dalton’s hand again and stopped his sprinkling, but this time, I didn’t let go. It was like an electric current shot through me, the urge to dance jumping from him to me. And then, instead of fighting the vibrating crowd, I gave in to it.
Dancing well, I quickly discovered, was not a requirement for clubs.
At least not for me. I shook my hips, trying to match the beat of the drums, bouncing on the balls of my feet.
Dalton still threw in a strange move here and there, designed to make me laugh, but then twisted his hand in my grip so he could twirl me around.
My hair flew out, the blur of the strobe lights disorienting me, transporting me to the land of fun.
This was what it felt like to be young and carefree. To be someone who didn’t have to worry about feeding four kids breakfast and keeping them from throwing plastic cups or punches. This was a careless freedom I’d only get small tastes of, and tonight was one of them.
And I decided to close my eyes and enjoy it.
A few girls came up and joined us, and I turned my attention to them, because I’d dance with anyone, not just my ex-boyfriend.
I flailed my arms with them, and we all pretended like the band was good when it switched songs.
This tune was harder, heavier, less stylistic like the Untapped Potential song they’d played.
Easier to toss my head to. A little bit harder to find the beat to.
In the middle of the song and the pulsing lights, I caught a glimpse of Nellie through the crowd, where Beck had his hands on her waist, and her arms were looped around his neck.
They grinned at each other as they danced, and Beck leaned in to murmur something in her ear.
I only saw a slow grin spread across her lips before the crowd moved again, shielding them from view.
Adorable.
A hand grazed along my arm, and I barely noticed it at first, thinking someone was just slipping past me, until the glancing touch became five fingers of solid pressure. I looked over my shoulder, and Dalton stood there, deliberately not meeting my eye as he continued to dance closer.
I instinctually shoved his hand off, but he must’ve thought I was just moving it down, because his palm curved at my waist. For the first time, the touch caused something cold to clench in my stomach.
“Personal space,” I tried to tell him, but the words were lost as the drummer slammed down on the cymbals.
One of the girls grabbed my hand, pulling me closer, away from Dalton, her heavily lined eyes flicking up to him. “Do you know him?” she called to me, words I could read more from her lips than hear them aloud.
I nodded. “My ex.”
She nodded, but the twist of her lips didn’t disappear.
I shoved at Dalton’s hand again. It slipped a little, but his other came up to my other hip to steady himself, as if he was afraid of losing me in the crowd. That wasn’t the reason, though—and he was really starting to tick me off.
I thought of the last dance we’d been to.
It’d been my junior prom, and we’d danced on a loud dancefloor much like this one, but with a crappier DJ instead of live music.
His hands had been on my hips, but kept slipping along my back.
Repeatedly, I’d had to nudge his hands higher while brushing it off, pretending it was endearing and not skin-crawling.
Now, though, I had no reason to pretend. And in that moment, as I looked up into his eyes, and instead of timid, I felt furious. “I swear, Dalton, get your hands off—”
The hand I’d been pushing on suddenly ripped off my hip with enough force that Dalton swung away. A hand gripped his wrist tightly, fingers curling into the soft flesh, and for a wild moment, I thought it was the girl with the thick liner.
But the person standing there, gripping Dalton’s arm like they wanted to break it, wasn’t a stranger.
“I’m going to say it for the last time.” The music was still loud, but Jamie’s low voice was clear. “Keep your hands off my girlfriend.”
The words slammed into me, electricity flicking across my skin. Heat swamped through and chased away the cold feeling that’d clenched my gut at Dalton’s touch. I’m going to say it for the last time. My head swam, the rhythm of the music muffled. Keep your hands off my girlfriend.
Jamie threw Dalton’s hand back at him and turned toward me, and just before it shifted, I caught the look on his face.
His eyes, half hidden behind the glare of his glasses, were full of rage.
His jaw was clenched so tightly that I could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, and he let out a sharp breath through his nose.
More than just rage—jealousy.
I’d never seen him jealous before. I’d never seen that sort of murderous rage on his face before.
And, oh my goodness, it was kinda hot.
Instead of tugging me off the dance floor and away from Dalton, Jamie’s hand smoothed around my waist, his touch infinitely gentle in stark contrast to the hard look that’d been on his face.
It was gone now, replaced with something more neutral as he leaned his head down.
“Why were you dancing with him?” he murmured in my ear, his voice so soft with me.
I had to physically force myself to focus. “I-I wasn’t—”
“Don’t dance with him.” Jamie’s nose skimmed the edge of my ear as he whispered into it, his breath a tremble across my skin. “Don’t let him touch you.”
Another bolt shot through me. Don’t let him touch you, he said, while his hand was on my lower back. Not low like Dalton’s had been. It was like Jamie’s hand was there more out of habit than anything, reassuring and safe, except my thoughts were anything but. “Only you can?”
Jamie leaned away as if I’d pushed at him.
I only caught glimpses of his expression as the strobe lights shifted color, but his lips were parted, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
The sight of him comically caught off guard caused a small smile to tip to my lips, and my fingers reached out to brush his arm. Point to me.
“Thank you!” the singer yelled into the mic. Now, the crowd screamed back. “Let’s see if you recognize this one!”
I didn’t. The drummer started it off with a cascade of beats, ones that I could feel vibrate through my chest. “Dance with me,” I said to Jamie, loud enough for him to hear.
Jamie immediately jerked back. “I don’t dance—”
“You have to!” A slow grin formed on my lips, the mental image forming along with it. “People are watching.”
By people, I definitely meant Dalton, who was a good distance now thanks to the girl with thick liner who’d stepped between us. His head poked over hers, his focus on us.
But for the first time, I didn’t care what he thought.
“Think of it as prom!” I told Jamie, and I watched as his eyes dropped to my lips to read them. “I got you to dance then!”
“If you count bobbing back and forth as dancing.”
My grin split wider, whereas his worried frown only seemed to deepen.
That was Jamie—an awkward head bobber with stiff shoulders and motionless hips.
Jamie was not even dressed for Downtown—he, truly, was dressed for a book club.
A cream button-down with the sleeves curled up to his elbows and a white shirt underneath.
Light-wash jeans cuffed at the ankles. Cuffed. With a pair of boat shoes.
Affection surged through me, warm and fluffy in my chest. “Feel the music, Sydney Carton!” I shouted, swinging his hand in tandem with the beat. “Be Oliver Twist!”
“Oliver Twist didn’t dance either—”
With my hand still firmly gripping his, I pretended Jamie spun me just as Dalton had. Once again, my hair flared out, the brief breeze slipping along the back of my sweaty neck. My sneaker twisted a little on the floor, and Jamie’s other hand landed on my waist, steadying me.
His stoic I’m too cool for this expression slipped a little, bleeding into something that had the butterflies in my stomach fluttering.
I chased the feeling, though, because dancing with Dalton hadn’t been like this—eager, happy, like I was stoking the flame of fun higher. I placed Jamie’s other hand on my other hip, reaching up to brace my hands on his very high shoulders, and danced.
At first, Jamie was stiff, like a bookshelf bolted to the wall.
Unmovable and unyielding. Even his hands on my hips were rigid, like he was afraid of pulling me forward or pushing me away.
Jamie’s lips began to move, but there was no hope of hearing his words.
In the strobing red and blue lights, I could read the words they formed.
“The things I do for you, Daisy Carmichael.”
A wild grin broke across my lips, and then Jamie finally started to dance with me.
I’d push my hip one way, and his body would shift along with it.
My action and his reaction. I made sure my moves were exaggerated, badly singing along to a song I did not know and throwing my head back as I did so.
Jamie watched me through it all, a slow, almost reverent smile building on his own lips.
Lips that I kept watching. Just in case he said something.
But he didn’t.