It wasn’t food.
It was horrid.
Like something you’d find on the floor after a zombie invasion!
My hand flew to my mouth as I choked, and my survival instincts tossed the zombie sludge right back out. Now it was on my hand, glued to it like a zombie snail ball that made me want to cry. I fought the tears, jerking my hand frantically, resembling an old-fashioned hand jive. I sent my zombie-snail ball flying across the room, only to plant on some elegant woman’s hat.Oops!
“Oh, did you want to dance?” Beau’s voice seemed to manifest from nowhere, startling me. I didn’t dare admit I had been wrong about the food, so I grinned like I had a burning secret in my mouth.
“Yeah, I get so excited I can’t hold it in.”
“Well, here, eat up and then we can dance.” He pushed my new plate of zombie snail sludge at me. “I’m glad I went back right away because these were the last two plates. We totally got lucky.”
“Lucky us!” I fake cheered behind gritted teeth, watching Beau down his zombie ball in one swallow, tipping his head way back like it was the most enjoyable thing he’d eaten all year. I only had a second to think while his head was tipped back. I was going to have to eat this zombie ball, jive it away, or hide it.
Oh, I’d kill for a pocket.
Or at least a tiny shoulder genie that could poof one up for me right now.
This dress was like a perfectly fitted sheet with nowhere I could hide a lump like this, even if I had pockets. My eyes fixed on Beau, chewing with his eyes closed, giving me one more second to brainstorm. I went with the only thing I could come up with and stuffed it in my bra, right between the girls. It went in slick—like baby oil—and luckily it stuck perfectly. At least snail glue was good for something—all evidence was gone.
“Are you ready to dance?” Beau held out his hand, prepared to pull me to the dance floor. Placing one hand inside his palm, I stepped forward and started to groove to the up-tempo beat with my other hand as we shimmied together to the dance floor. It was fun.
Carefree.
Why didn’t I do this more often? But right when we took our spots in the center of the floor, the music did one of those ungraceful transitions like the power went out. When it powered back up, we were left with a slow song.
Areallyslooooow song.
A slow song with a sultry voice singing words I would never repeat near my boss. Scanning around the room, I saw partners joining hands and moving in close. Here I was, staring at Beau from a good yard away. He had asked me to dance, and it would be rude to bail now. “Uh, a slow song.” I bobbed my head around like it was stuck doing the funky chicken. “Kinda hard to find the beat.”
“That’s ’cause there ain't one.” He took a step closer to me, leaving enough space that I could have sliced my hand through between us, but nothing more. He clearly didn’t pass the old junior-high balloon test when he wrapped his arm around my waist, resting his hand on my lower back, securing me in place.
Yep, I wasslooowdancing with my boss.
I let my eyes float above his head as we were too close for me to look directly at him. “So,” I started, but when I couldn’t think of anything to say, I let out a whistle so out-of-sync with the music that it made me look like the crazy lady who hears voices in her head.
“Are you nervous?” Beau’s expression was so totally cool and unruffled, like we were a casual couple who enjoyed each other’s company.
“Uhh—” I dropped my eyes to meet his. Big mistake. Now that we were close, I could see he was better than achocolate factory after a week of juice fastinghandsome. “No. Not nervous at all. I do this all the time.” My eyes skidded to the side like Amelia Earhart looking for an emergency landing. “I mean,not this.” My voice screeched as I motioned toward him. “Like dancing close with my boss sort of thing, but you know, enjoying the music. So yeah, totally cool. Why would you ask if I was nervous?”
Why did I just snort like that? Bodily functions can be so full of betrayal.
His lips slid into an easy grin—meaning it looked easy for him to wear it, but it made it gut-wrenching hard for me because he looked even more like a prince. Trying to avoid cursing, I accidentally said, “Craw!” like I was trying to communicate with birds that weren’t even there. Then I slammed my face down toward the floor, wincing so hard I thought I’d blown a blood vessel. I was clearly winning the do-everything-to-make-a-fool-of-yourself contest going on in my head.
He didn’t seem to notice my oddities, and guided me in a circle around the dance floor so effortlessly I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been floating. “I was a little.” His voice pulled me to look at him.
I had forgotten what we had been talking about. “A little what?”
“Nervous.”
“You were?” I asked skeptically, cocking my head to the side.
“I was when I got here and was waitin’ by myself. I don’t usually go to these things, but I knew it was important to you. When I saw you—everything got easier. So, I’m feeling better now that we’re together.”
Ping.
That was the sound of the word “together” slamming into my heart. Clearly, I was taking it out of context, and not just a little—like way out of the galaxy context—but something about it felt special and it was meant to stand out.
