“Joint celebrations,” he pointed out. “Just like our birthdays.”
I smiled, despite myself. Eyeing the bar packed with people here to celebrate him versus the two people I was here with, I wrapped my hand around his bicep and murmured, “You always did have better parties than me,” near his ear.
His eyes lit with something else, something hotter, something… dangerous. “Dance with me.”
“Wh-what?”
“Dance with me, Dawson.” He nodded his head toward the dance floor and reached for my hand.
I was tempted to do it. Beyond tempted. Nearly compelled by the witchcraft of his body and voice and the tension that had always been between us. I pictured us on the dance floor, bodies pressed together, his hands on my hips, his mouth close to mine…Yeswas on the tip of my tongue.
Everything inside me heated and burned and tingled and all I wanted to do was get lost in the music and Levi’s magic.
But that would have been stupid—incredibly stupid. His deceased brother was the father of my child. I couldn’t dance with Levi. I couldn’t do anything with Levi.
I was saved by Ajax of all people. He appeared suddenly next to Levi, took one look at the taller man and grabbed my hand. I let him.
No matter how drunk or high or weird he’d been, I needed him to be my escape tonight. I realized as his clammy hand clamped around mine that was all he ever was for me—an escape. Sometimes from reality. But tonight, he would be my escape from the past.
“Sorry,” I yelled at Levi as Ajax tugged me through the crowd after him.
Levi’s confused expression only lasted a second until it turned into fury. His glare cut like ice through the steamy room, chilling me to the bone.
There, I thought. That should give him the clear signal that I wasn’t interested. Enough of our game. Enough of the constant back and forth.
I turned into Ajax as soon as we hit the floor and tried to get lost in the music, the same way I imagined getting lost in Levi.
It didn’t work. And my buzz fizzled into cold clarity.
This was the right thing. But it felt fucking terrible.
14
Rhythm is a Dancer
An hour and a half later, I was sweaty and realizing how desperately out of shape I was. Also, how bad a dancer I was.
Ajax was all rhythm and soul—even three sheets to the wind. I was like one of those giant wind-machine-dancing-Gumby things they kept at car dealerships. It wasn’t pretty.
“I need a drink,” I shouted at him. He wrapped his arm around my back and yanked me against him. Sensing he was about to kiss me, I turned my head just in time and his lips landed on my neck. Not that it was a less intimate kiss, but at least I’d been saved from his whiskey breath and slug-like tongue.
I felt eyes on me, glaring holes in my head. It could have been my friends since I’d abandoned them on my one night out of the house in months for a guy I was trying to avoid. Or it could have been the entire rest of the town, crammed into this tiny space, sensing I didn’t belong.
It was probably Kristen March, to be honest. I’d caught her looking my way and whispering to her minions all night. I liked to pretend they weren’t talking about me, but I’d gone to school with these girls since kindergarten. I had their number.
My saving grace in staying in this awful town was that none of the people I went to school with had kids yet. So, while I had to deal with the other moms of young kids, they had all been old enough for me to avoid their high school games.
Now we were all on a level playing field. For the most part anyway. Our days were busy and filled with messes and cartoons and fighting for kids to eat their vegetables. There was most certainly drama whenever women were together, but I was able to ignore it better now that I had bigger priorities.
It was definitely possible they still talked about me. They just usually did it behind my back.
Even though I’d told Ajax I needed a drink, I bypassed the bar on the way to the bathroom. I needed a break from the sticky heat of the dance floor and a breather. I couldn’t say I was having a terrible time. Ajax was fun to dance with. And it felt good to act like my age for once. I just didn’t want him to think this would end up being more than it was.
“His parents want him to settle down,” a girl was saying when I pushed through the bathroom door. It was much cooler in here and I sucked in a deep breath. “Apparently he got a little wild. I heard it was an ultimatum.”
I recognized the girl immediately—Kelly Fink. In high school, Coco and I used to call her Kelly Pink because she was obsessed with the color. Every single day, from freshman year to the day we graduated, she wore something pink. Not even an exaggeration.
She gave me a look that wasn’t exactly friendly before turning back to the mirror to finish reapplying her lipstick.
